




























Class P b 1 4- A?. 

Book W5 ..&& 

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Copyright - . j 

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COPYRIGHT DEPOSfT, 






ENGLISH RHETORIC 


J 

WILLIAM ALLEN WILBUR, A. M. 

Professor of English in the George Washington 
University and Dean of Columbian College 



Published by the Author 
at the Press of Judd Sc Detweiler, Inc. 
WASHINGTON, D. C. 

1915 

' Cep/ 


Copyright, 1915 
by 

William Allen Wilbur 


FEB -5 1915 


©CI.A391605 




h 



INSCRIBED 


IN MEMORY OF 

HORACE MANN WILLARD 

A TEACHER 

* * * “he bore without abuse 

The grand old name of gentleman.** 





P REFACE. 


This text-book of English Rhetoric was written for the 
required minimum of English in college — a one-year course 
in Freshman rhetoric. Eighteen years of English teaching in 
George Washington University developed the book to meet 
curriculum conditions where it is inevitable that one-third of 
all graduates will have had only one college course in English, 
and where it is possible that two-thirds will have had only one 
course. The standard of public requirement in the use of the 
mother tongue is high and severe, and- for the college graduate 
the public is likely to regard English as the touchstone of 
general efficiency. 

English preparation for college comprises so many years of 
elementary and secondary instruction that the requirements of 
good use are well known and the prospect of additional Eng- 
lish in college is often regarded with some impatience. The 
college freshman has more knowledge than he uses, and the 
end is not attained merely by making him use what he has; 
his lack is not so much rules as motive; he needs practice in 
composition, and he needs also a philosophy of English rhet- 
oric and a scientific method that will give results. This book 
is an attempt to supply a consistent philosophy and a scientific 
method by analysis of rhetorical elements and qualities, to the 
end that the student shall discover a sufficient cause of interest 
and a sufficient opportunity to make him an intelligent observer 
of rhetorical effects and a diligent student of rhetorical com- 
position. 

During the six years of the making of this book I have had 
many helpers. I am indebted to my wife for constant col- 
laboration; to the students, now a large company, who have 

(v) 


VI 


Preface. 


given to the book the test of class use; to colleagues of the 
University faculty, notably Dean Howard L. Hodgkins, Pro- 
fessor Hermann Schoenfeld, Dean Charles E. Munroe, and 
Professor George N. Henning, for kindly interest and sug- 
gestion; and especially to Professor James Howard Gore, to 
the late Professor Williston S. Hough, and to Assistant Pro- 
fessor De Witt C. Croissant, now of the University of Kansas, 
for important and helpful criticism; to Mr. George H. Judd 
also, whose encouragement, from the earliest printing of sec- 
tions of this book, helped to bring it to completion. 

Wiluam Aeeen Wiebur. 

Washington, January, 1915. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter I. 

The Subject 

Definition, i ; Personality, I ; The Motive, 2 ; Style, 
3; The Fine Art of Rhetoric, 4; The Problem, 4; 
The Primary Modes of Style, 7; The Secondary 
Modes of Style, 9; The Elements of Composition, 
11 ; The Composition, 11; The Paragraph, 13; The 
Sentence, 14; The Word, 15; The Syllable, 17; The 
Making of a Writer, 19. 

Chapter II. 

Prose 

The Literal Mode, 25; Standard Prose, 26; The 
Colloquial Standard, 27; The Literary Standard, 29; 
The Oratorical Standard, 30; The Intellectual Type, 
33; The Impassioned Type, 34; The Imaginative 
Type, 35; Freedom under Law, 37. 

Chapter III. 

Poetry 

The Genesis of Poetry, 39; Beauty, 40; The Poet, 
42 ; The Language of Poetry, 47 ; Figures of Speech, 
48; The Correlative Figures, 50; The Subject-Fig- 
ures, 51; The Image-Figures, 56; Figurative Quality, 
59; Metre, 61; Metrical Elements, 63; Types of 
Poetry, 66; The Epic Type, 67; The Lyric Type, 68; 
The Dramatic Type, 70; The Gleam, 71. 

Chapter IV. 

Narration 

Narration, 72; Elements of Narrative Interest, 
74; Plot Analysis, 76; Plot Synthesis, 78; Plot Em- 
phasis, 80; Primary Stress, 81; Secondary Stress, 
86; Tone, 94; Character Treatment, 95; Character- 
istics, 96; Thought-Interest, 100; Elements and Qual- 
ities of Style, 103; Theory of the Short Story, 107; 
The Novel, 109. 

Chapter V. 

Description 

Description, 112; Vision, 113; Point of View, 115; 
Selection, 116; Things as They Are, 120. 


Pages 

1-24 


25-38 


39-71 


72-1 I I 


I 12-120 


(vii) 


Contents. 


viii 


Chapter VI. 

Exposition 

Things That Are Not Seen, 121 ; Abstract Think- 
ing, 123; Discipline, 125; Types of Exposition, 131; 
Substantive Exposition, 132; Adjective Exposition, 
138; Organic Thinking, 143; The Text-Book, 144; 
The Monograph, 144; The Treatise, 146; The Essay, 
148; The Thinkers, 149. 

Chapter VII. 

Argumentation 

The Other-Self, 151 ; Phenomena of Conscious- 
ness, 152; Kinds of Argumentation, 157; Letter- 
Writing, 158; Journalism, 162; Conversation, 171 ; 
Teaching, 180; Oratory, 186; The Assembly, 186; 
The Court of Law, 190; The Debate, 190; The Pul- 
pit, 192; The Special Occasion, 195; Eloquence, 196. 

Chapter VIII. 

The Composition 

English Quality, 199; The Field of Strategy, 203-; 
Principles of Structure, 205; The Plan, 207; The 
Introduction, 208; The Development, 21 1; The Con- 
clusion, 216. 


Chapter IX. 

The Paragraph 

The Theory of the Paragraph, 218; Good Form 
in Paragraphs, 219; Kinds of Paragraphs, 220; Nar- 
rative Paragraphs, 221 ; Descriptive Paragraphs, 222 ; 
Expositive Paragraphs, 223. 

Chapter X. 

The Sentence 

The Unit of Style, 227; Theories of the Sentence, 
228; Sentence-Length, 231; Sentence-Structure, 232; 
The Rhetorical Clause, 235; Punctuation, 236; Evo- 
lution, 238; Sentence-Studies, 240. 

Chapter XI. 

The Word 

The Genesis of Poetry and Prose, 247; Truth, 249; 
Primary Word-Groups, 253; Good Use, 256; The 
English Language, 263. 


Pages 

I2I--I50 


151-198 


199-2 1 7 


218-226 


227-246 


247-264 


Contents. 


IX 


Chapter XII. 

The Syllable 

The Musician’s Realm, 265; The Vowels, 268; 

The Consonants, 270; Euphony, 274; Rhythm, 278; 
Analysis of Rhythm, 282; Harmony, 284. 


Questions and Themes. 


Pages 

265-290 


Questions on English Rhetoric 
Themes for Paragraph Writing 
Special Studies 


291-306 

306-309 

309 



CHAPTER I. 


THE SUBJECT. 


1. Definition . — R hetori c is self-expression through lan- 
guage. It gives effectiveness^ to "discourse by infusing into it 
personal quality. The method of rhetorical composition adapts 
language to all the other factors involved — the Self, the Other- 
Self, the thought, the occasion. Yet adaptation alone is not 
rhetoric, for language may be in complete adjustment, adapted 
in all of its relations, and yet be ineffective like a wire circuit 
without the electric spark. The living. power in words , is .the 
power of personality. The Self finding adequate expression 
through a circuit of words — this ;s Rhetoric. 

What rhetoric essentially is may be studied in its effects. 
Such an effect is described by Tennyson : 

“But when he spake and cheer’d his Table Round, 

With large, divine, and comfortable words, 

Beyond my tongue to tell thee — I beheld 
From eye to eye thro’ all their Order flash 
A momentary likeness of the King.” 1 

2. Personality. — The Self is a person whose characteristic 
quality is personality. A person is an embodied spirit whose 
characteristic quality is spirituality. The Self is experienced 
in consciousness as the substantive reality behind the phenom- 
ena of consciousness. S piritu ality is the essential elemental 
quality of the Self. Personality is the characteristic quality 
of the embodied Self, and the personal quality that distin- 
guishes one person from another is individuality. 

The Buddhist philosopher minimizes personality, regarding 
individuality as a fading condition to be lost at last in the All- 
Soul — not distinguishable from annihilation. 

The Christian philosopher emphasizes personality, regarding 
it as progressively crystallizing into perfect individuality, find- 
ing in the scientific doctrine of evolution a striking analogy to 
spiritual development. Spencer states the formula of evolu- 
tion thus : 

“Evolution is an integration of matter, and concomitant dissipation of 
motion, during which the matter passes from an indefinite, incoherent 


1 Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892), “Idylls of the King”: “The Coming 
of Arthur,” 266-270. 

(1) 


homogeneity to a definite, coherent heterogeneity; and during which the 
retained motion undergoes a parallel transformation” 2 

So personality acquires distinguishing, permanent charac- 
teristics. 

The general Christian conception of the final state of blessed- 
ness is the attainment of perfection and the power of perfect 
expression. Spiritual evolution is the unfolding of personality 
under the solicitations of external influences. Expression is 
as natural for personality as the fragrance of flowering fields 
in answer to sunshine and rain. 

Mental attitude towards the fact of personality conditions 
the motive of expression. A belief that personality is fading 
is an influence tending to apathy and quiescence like that of 
the old East. A belief in the crystallizing of personality into 
perfect individuality is followed by individual personal activity 
of expression. 

3. The Motive. — The impulse that . leads to self-expression 
is innate. It is the evidence in our nature of the Divine com- 
mission to subdue the earth and possess it. The naturalness 
of expression is suggested in the heart-beats that are life-pulses 
throughout our physical organism, in the five senses that are 
the outward gates to the world, and in the prattle of the child 
unconsciously exercising the organs of speech for the language 
he is soon to learn. 

The motive rises into consciousness in a burden of uneasi- 
ness and unrest that is lightened only by expression. This is 
described by Edmund Spenser, speaking through his shepherd 

poet: 

“I never lyst presume to Parnasse hyll, 

But, pyping lowe in shade of lowly grove, 

I play to please myself e, all be it ill. 

Nought weigh I who my song doth prayse or blame, 

Ne strive to winne renowne, or passe the rest: 

* * * * * * * * 

I wote, my rymes bene rough, and rudely drest; 

The fytter they my carefull case to frame: 

Enough is me to paint out my unrest.” 3 

Wordsworth described the motive as a tempest, a redundant 
energy, vexing its own creation: 

“For I, methought, while the sweet breath of heaven 
Was blowing on my body, felt within 
A correspondent breeze, that gently moved 
With quickening virtue, but is now become 
A tempest, a redundant energy, 

Vexing its own creation” 4 


Herbert Spencer (1820-1903), “First Principles,” sec. 145. 

* Edmund Spenser (1552-1599), “The Shepheards Calendar”— “June.” 
4 William Wordsworth (1770-1850), “The Prelude,” 1, 33-38. 


The soul is facing outwards. Stevenson’s 5 “Will o’ the Mill” 
is a parable that says all that can be said for inaction, and it 
is a tragedy. Stevenson himself believed, “Acts may be for- 
given : not even God can forgive the hanger-back.” Life is to 
be practical and expressive, and in every avenue of expression 
the interpreter is language. 


4. Style. — “Le style est de Vhomme meme ,” 6 is the most 
famous saying about style. Style is of the man himself ; his 
style is his manner. The writer’s mariner is as characteristic 
as his signature ; as he acquires control of the medium of ex- 
pression he develops a grace of naturalness so individual that 
he may be recognized by it. We say in idiomatic phrase, “he 
expresses himself well,” and we call the style by his name — 
“Miltonic,” or “Shakespearian.” If you would know yourself, 
write; if you would know your neighbor, read what he has 
written. If a man leaves the impress of his individuality upon 
any object of daily use, surely this will be true of the language 
through which he expresses himself ; style transcribes person- 
ality. Taine 7 studied English literature not with a literary but 
with a philosophical motive, to learn the characteristics of the 
English people. 

Ben Jonson wrote of the personal expressiveness of lan- 


guage : ^ ' 

most shows a man: speak, that I 
may' see thee. It springs out of the most retired and inmost parts of 
us, and is the image of the parent of it, the mind. No glass renders a 
man’s form or likeness so true as his speech. Nay, it is likened to a 
man; and as we consider feature and composition in a man, so words 
in language; in the greatness, aptness, sound structure, and harmony 


of it.” 8 


This gives human interest to style. Theme-work is style in 
the making, and it is dry and uninteresting only so far as it 
fails to be rhetorical. Literature has this essential human 
interest, — 

“All houses wherein men have lived and died 
Are haunted houses.” 9 


5 Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894). See Balfour’s “Life of Robert 
Louis Stevenson,” vol. 1, p. 191. 

6 Georges Louis Leclerc Buffon (1707-1788), “Discours sur le style ” 
in 1753 before the French Academy. 

T Hippolyte Adolphe Taine (1828-1893), “History of English Litera- 
ture.” 

8 Ben Jonson (1573-1637), “Timber; or, Discoveries Made Upon Men 
and Matter.” 

8 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882), “Haunted Houses.” 


4 


5. The Fine Art of Rhetoric.— The employment of lan- 
guage for the purpose of expression is an art, and when such 
expression becomes self-expression, having spiritual quality 
and individual personal distinctiveness, the art becomes fine 
art, and the mode is Rhetoric. 

The fine arts seek self-expression through beautiful modes — 
as in architecture and painting— spiritualizing the medium of 
expression with grace and beauty. We naturally feel that 
every person normally endowed must have within his reach a 
mode of self-expression in the mastery of which he may expect 
to become an artist. And we find such a universal mode in 
rhetoric. From forgotten, half-conscious years we have used 
language; personal associations have made it for each of us 
a marvelous fabric wrought like a tapestry with our own 
dreams and memories. And each may hope to gain artistic 
mastery of this mode of expression which he cherishes as his 
mother-tongue. 

An ^nglish-speaking person learns a foreign language 
through the phases of vocabulary, grammar, and idiom. A 
considerable part of his study is an apprenticeship to these 
things. But with English, his mother-tongue, it is different; 
all of the elementary things he should have known from his 
youth up. In the more advanced study of English he is face 
to face with the problem of self-expression. This is not essen- 
tially different from the art of sculpture, painting, architecture 
or music. The art of self-expression through language is akin 
to all of them. The technic of the art always concerns itself 
with syllables, words, sentences, and paragraphs, and with all 
of the relations of these elements, but the technic is recog- 
nized as a means to an end, and that end a high and worthy 
one. It is self-expression. 

The stars in their courses fight for him who uses his mother- 
tongue : laws of association bring infinite suggestion ; laws of 
use bring naturalness and freedom. The mother-tongue is a 
medium of expression which loses itself in immediate influ- 
ences ; the factors of expression have such intimate relation in 
the mother-tongue that the occasion marks the fellowship of 
the Self and the Other-Self in a personal interpretation of the 
thought. The felicitous language is the mother-tongue — the 
language of the heart and life through which the soul finds 
self-expression. 

6. The Problem. — The factors in the problem of self- 
expression are the Self, the Other-Self, the thought, the occa- 
sion, and the word. Rhetorical expression is a composition 
of all these factors, and the neglect or misuse of any one of 


5 


them essentially affects the composition. The comprehensive- 
ness of Rhetoric is suggested by the nature of the factors, — 
the Self and the Other-Self involving psychology ; the thought, 
in its sequences, involving logic; the occasion, calling for fine 
sympathy and tact, involving ethics ; the word involving gram- 
mar. , __ 

A word is the' servant of all the other factors. It is used by 
the Self as a means of personal communication with the Other- 
Self under special conditions of time and place. The word 
reaches into the solitude of individuality and establishes a per- 
sonal circuit of psychic influence. A rhetorical expression is 
not soliloquy, but discourse. It is not unrestrained efferves- 
cence of language, but language under the strictest law adapt- 
ing means to ends. It is only in such subordination to law 
that personal influence breathes through it. 

The problem is one of adaptation and organization and char- 
acterization. Adaptation gives the quality of clearness ; organ- 
ization, through the quickening pervasiveness of personality, 
gives the quality of f orce; characterization, through the proper 
distribution of emphasis,' permits the truth to shine through 
the composition, the genial quality of which is beauty. 

The problem of clearness is the adaptation of the word to 
the other factors. It is an intellective quality involving an 
exercise of judgment in elemental phases, — the adaptation of 
the word to the Self and the Other-Self, which is perspicuity; 
to the thought, which is precision ; and to the occasion, which 
is tact. The adequate understanding of the composition de- 
pends on perspicuity, precision, and tact. The standard of 
clearness was long ago set by Quintilian, “Non ut inteltegere 
possit, sed ne omnino possit non inteltegere , curandum .” 10 We 
must see to it, not that it is possible to know, but that it is not 
at all possible not to know. 

The problem of force is how to impart personal energy to 
language so as to give it holding power. Force is the quality 
that holds, and personal energy alone can hold personality. 
The adequate enforcement of the composition demands that 
you be strong in saying the thing. If you really care about 
the thing you would give expression to, your own deep feeling 
will give it holding power. Language so inspired has a heart- 
beat like the surge of sound in a shell. Influences of the soul 
fill empty words with infinite, mystical charm ; they transform 
the mechanism into an organism. Force is the essential dis- 
tinctive quality of rhetorical composition. 

10 Marcus Fabius Quintilianus (about 35-95 A. D.), “Institutio Ora- 
toria,” 8, 2. 


6 


The problem of beauty is emphasis. Rightly to distribute 
emphasis, placing proper word's in proper places with felicitous 
accent and cadence, is like giving a house many windows : the 
light that is within shines forth. Portia says : 

“That light we see is burning in my hall: 

How far that little candle throws his beams. 

So shines a good deed in a naughty world.” u 

When language is used so naturally that the language itself 
is forgotten in the beauty of the spirit that informs it, we have 
achieved the expression of beauty. 

Clearness can exist without force or beauty. It is a quality 
of the thought, a mental product so impersonal and objective 
that language through mechanical perfection may be clear with- 
out being self-expressive. Hence language may express a 
thought clearly without being rhetorical. 

Force is an emanation of the Self, and is therefore elemental. 
Because of its elemental character force can exist without 
clearness or beauty: there is forceful composition that is 
neither clear nor beautiful; some forceful poetry is not clear, 
and some forceful prose is not beautiful. 

Beauty arises out of the relation of the Self and the thought; 
it is, therefore, not elemental, but compound. The quality of 
beauty can exist without clearness, for it is deeper than mech- . 
anism and not akin to it. It cannot exist without force, for 
force as personal energy is one of the elements of beauty ; yet 
language may be forceful without being beautiful. There is 
in the Self a transcendent affinity for truth. Beauty is a mode 
of spirituality arising in the relations of the Self to the thought, 
when perceptions of truth stir infinite forces and suffuse the 
thought with congenial influence. Beauty gives character to 
language. The diffusion of its quality is wonderful like 
chemic force. It is “no mortal business nor no sound that the 
earth owes” ; it is the wonder of Ariel’s Song wrought out on 
common words: 

“Nothing of him that doth fade, 

But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange.” 12 

The emphasis that expresses beauty affects language in two 
ways: it uses only proper words, and it puts words only in 
proper places. It perfectly subordinates and controls the me- 
dium of expression. Ruskin says: 

11 William Shakespeare (1564-1616), “The Merchant of Venice,” 5, 1, 
89-91. 

“ “The Tempest,” 1, 2, 399-401. 


7 


“The least appearance of extravagance, of the want of moderation 
and restraint is destructive of all beauty, giving rise to that which in 
color we call glaring, in form inelegant, in motion ungraceful, in lan- 
guage coarse, in thought undisciplined, in all unchastened. * * * 

Over the doors of every school of art, I would have this one word, 
relieved out in deep letters of pure gold — Moderation.” 1 * 

7. TJie P rimary Mode s of Style. — A mode is a form given 
to composition bysome controlling principle. There are two 
primary modes of style — prose and poetry. 

There are two kinds of reality, matter and spirit — the ^ody 
and soul of the world. Rhetorical composition expresse' these 
two: the composition that expresses either of these separately 
is prose; the composition that expresses both of these togetlu r 
is poetry. The philosopher studies spiritual abstractions, and 
expresses these abstractions in prose. The scientist studies 
material things, and expresses these things in prose. The poet, 
through the creative faculty of the imagination, relates matte*, 
and spirit, and expresses this new creation in poetry. 

The separation of matter and spirit in composition gives 
prose that ranges from the material levels of sense-perception 
to the heights of silence, where spirit is contemplated in ab- 
straction. 

The union of matter and spirit in composition gives essential 
poetry which has a wide range of effect from narration and 
description, stirring with the breath of spiritual influence, to 
poetry, shining above any light on sea or land with the bright- 
ness that binds two worlds together. 

Prose is the product of the intellect, poetry the creation of 
the imagination. 

In life and in literature phenomena of poetry appear before 
prose. Experience of deep influences, unreasoned but pro- 
foundly felt, precedes the conscious exercise of reason, and 
transcends it also. This explains the priority of poetry in child 
life, in primitive society, and in the youth of the world. The 
world’s oldest literature is poetry, and its permanence is ex- 
plainable in the universality of a transcendent motive. Poetry 
rises into consciousness as an emotion, and is then shaped in 
forms of sensuousness by the imagination. 

Shakespeare describes the process of the creation of poetry: 


“The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; 
And as imagination bodies forth 
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen 
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
A local habitation and a name. 


“John Ruskin (1819-1900), “Modern Painters,” 3, 1, 10. 


8 


Such tricks hath strong imagination, 

That, if it would but apprehend some joy. 

It comprehends some bringer of that joy.” 

Milton says good poetry is “simple, sensuous and passion- 
ate .” 15 It is simple, for the affinity between matter and spirit 
gives an effect of great naturalness; it is sensuous, for the 
imagination gives to it a sensuous form — a local habitation and 
a nar >e; it is passionate, for it is apprehended as emotion and 
the heart gives it passionateness. 

P ose d elops through analysis and abstraction. The poetic 
mode presenting spiritual things embodied in material forms 
is l ' . natural, because more in accord with our experience 
of the world. With the progress of thinking, the composite 

id - of experience resolve themselves into elemental abstrac- 
tion, and we become habituated to the processes of prose. 
Pr se composition develops only through strong intellectuality. 
Knowledge develops from a concrete thing through the ab- 
stract process of reasoning to another concrete thing. This is 
the prose mode, — a mode of pure reason. 

The prime quality of prose is clearness. It is hard to think 
abstractly, and it is hard to follow abstract thinking. Prose 
composition should, therefore, utilize all the means of clear- 
ness. The medium of languag'e should be so clear as not to 
absorb mental energy. The word should be like plate glass so 
that we may see the thought without being conscious of the 
word. This principle is set forth by Spencer as follows : 

“Regarding language as an apparatus of symbols for the conveyance 
of thought, we may say that, as in a mechanical apparatus, the more 
simple and the better arranged its parts the greater will be the effect 
produced. In either case, whatever force is absorbed by the machine is 
deducted from the result. A reader or listener has at each moment but 
a limited amount of mental power available. To recognize and inter- 
pret the symbols presented to him requires part of this power; to 
arrange and combine the images suggested requires a further part ; and 
only that part which remains can be used for realizing the thought con- 
veyed. Hence the more time and attention it takes to receive and 
understand each sentence, the less time and attention can be given to 
the contained idea, and the less vividly will that idea be conceived.” 18 

This treatment of language as a mechanism is important but 
inadequate, for literary expression is more than a mechanism ; 
it is an organism quickened with personality. While clearness 
leaves the reader less to do, personal force inspires him to do 
more. 


14 “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” 5, 1, 12-20. 

John Milton (1608-1674), “Of Education.” 

16 “The Philosophy of Style,” pt. 1, sec. 1. 


9 




Prose must have clearness and force, and it may have beauty. 
Poetry must have beauty and force, and it may have clearness. 
Force is common to both as the essential quality of all rhetori- 
cal expression. 

8. The Secondary Modes of Style. — There are four second- 
ary modes of style— -narration, description, exposition, and 
argumentation. The principle of classification is the motive 
of the composition. When the motive is to show the relations 
of things in time, we have narration; when the motive is to 
show the relations of things in * space, we have description ; 
when the motive is to show the relations of things in thought, 
we have exposition; when the motive is to show the relations 
of things to personality, we have argumentation. 

The word that is common to all these modes of style is rela- 
tions. When a child says one — one — one — he is not counting. 
He is not counting when he says one, two, three, unless he 
consciously notes the relations of these objects in a series. It 
is only as events are set forth in a series showing relations that 
we have narration. Events alone do not make narration. It 
is only as objects are related in portrayal that we get a unity 
of scene that constitutes description. The relations of thought 
developing logical character and meaning constitute the mode 
of style that we call exposition. The relations of thought and 
personality, giving personal motive and endowing things with 
convincing and persuasive power, develop the mode of style 
that we call argumentation. In all of these modes of style the 
essential word is relations. The problem is one of putting 
things together. 

We cannot too often say that the problem of composition 
is not things, but the relations of things. In our scientific 
laboratories we analyze and combine and re-combine. We 
work among the elements without adding or subtracting. It 
is significantly true in composition that “there is no new thing 
under the sun.” Nearly everything in the Shakespeare plays 
is gathered from sources in the old books. New relations of 
old things made the plays of Shakespeare. 

The secondary modes of style may be naturally treated in 
the following order — narration, description, exposition, argu- 
mentation. This order begins with the most objective form 
and ends with the most subjective form. In experience it is 
the objective that awakens the subjective. Things of space 
and time, objects of sense-perception, enter first into conscious 
experience, and these are naturally the first subjects of expres- 
sion. A common objectivity relates narration and description. 
Narration is treated first because it is a more natural and an 
easier mode of expression than description. 


) 


10 


Narration is congenial because of the analogy of succession 
in events and in language : things that occur in successive mo- 
ments of time are expressed in words that follow a like suc- 
cession in time. Action also is congenial, and all narration is 
action. 

Description, the second objective mode, is most difficult. 
First, it is difficult because things that are motionless in spade 
are expressed by words that move in time : a changing medium 
of words seeks to express the essentially changeless. Second, 
it is difficult because relations of things in space are not as 
obvious as relations of things in time. Time-relations are 
usually cause and effect ; space-relations are similarity and con- 
trast or contiguity. These space-relations are largely matters 
of personal interpretation. This personal interpretation, which 
is the distinguishing difference between a portrait and a photo- 
graph, constitutes the glory and the difficulty of description. 

Exposition deals with the relation of things, not in space 
or in time, but in the mind. The material of exposition is all 
metaphysical. Not percepts but concepts give the essential 
character to this mode of expression. Exposition explains the 
things that are not seen, and it is significant of our needs that 
most composition is expository. Tfie reasoning faculty reacts 
on sense-perceptions, on images and memories, and the result 
is a web of syllogism, usually expressed in the intellectual type 
of prose. 

Argumentation has its basis in a personal relation; so sub- 
jective quality enters in a controlling way into this mode of 
style, giving it much of the distinctive character of the ora- 
torical standard. The bond of interest connecting things with 
personality is of a two-fold character, stirring the reason into 
activity and producing conviction, and involving the feelings 
and so developing persuasion. Conviction and persuasion 
constitute the important field of argumentation. 

Narration and description form a natural group ; they have 
in common their origin in the feelings and their appeal to the 
imagination. 

Exposition forms a second class, having its origin in the 
reasoning faculty and its appeal, also, to the reason. 

Argumentation is a compound form, having in it elements 
of conviction and persuasion : conviction is of the reasoning 
faculty and persuasion is of the feelings. 

The four secondary modes shown as distinct forms are not 
found so clearly distinct in literature. Like the elements in 
nature, usually in compound forms, these secondary modes of 
style are combined and interwoven. Illustrative passages cited 
in studying these modes are usually complex, and are classified 


I 


II 


merely by the dominant mode. Narration and description 
have so much in common that they naturally merge with one 
another. Description and exposition are unconsciously inter- 
woven in writing, because the imagination does not habitually 
separate itself from the logical faculty. The popular term 
“description” means more of technical exposition than descrip- 
tion. Argumentation also has such a range of appeal that it 
utilizes all the other modes. 

9. The Elements of Composition. — Analysis of a book 
shows the following elements: the composition expressing a 
unit of design, the paragraph expressing a single thought- 
progression, the sentenr^^xpressing a single personal effect, 
the word expressing a unit of meaning, and the syllable ex- 
pressing a unit of sound. Each of these is an important field 
of study. 

10. The Composition. — The composition is a unit of de- 
sign. It is a book or a part of a book expressing in complete- 
ness some plan. The definition applies to a work as a whole, 
or to any section or chapter of a work expressing one complete 
plan. The composition is the field of vision and construction. 
To select a subject, to read and make notes, to converse and 
gather facts and opinions, to study every phase of the subject 
and become familiar with the whole field of it, — this is the 
preliminary work of composition, and it lasts until the light 
comes like the dawn of day, and the vision of the composition 
lies like a fair prospect upon the horizon. 

What visions made up the vast design of Gibbon’s “Decline 
and Fall of the Roman Empire” ! What a dreadful horizon 
was that of Carlyle in the “French Revolution” ! What ele- 
mental grandeur characterized the design of Darwin’s “Origin 
of Species” ! Drummond studied analogies between natural 
and spiritual forces and conceived his “Natural Law in the 
Spiritual World.” The lights of the world that shine with 
spiritual meaning give themes to the poets. So arose the 
poems of Wordsworth, and Tennyson, and Browning. Obser- 
vations of matter give rise to scientific hypotheses. Medita- 
tions on human experience lead to philosophical conceptions. 
So the thinking of men crystallizes into unity of design. There 
is the range of human interest in the stories of Irving and 
Hawthorne and Poe, of Stevenson and Kipling. What a 
v/orld of vision is there! We know many of their composi- 
tions well enough to imagine how they arose. 

The composition is the realm of invention, the field of the 
literary strategist and tactician. It requires decision and 


12 


I 


strong thinking to bring the composition from the vague defi- 
nition of a conceived design to the definite outline of a formu- 
lated plan. Many plans are conceivably good, each a working 
hypothesis for expressing the idea of the composition. The 
best plan is the one that meets most perfectly all the conditions 
of all the factors — the motive of the Self, the susceptibilities 
of the Other-Self, the demands of the thought, and the limita- 
tions and opportunities of the occasion. 

The first process in the composition is invention, the finding 
of material. The second process is the recognition of the na- 
ture of the material and the selection of the mode of style best 
fitted to express it. This determines whether the composition 
is prose or poetry, whether it is narrative, descriptive, exposi- 
tory, or argumentative. The choice of these modes requires 
nice discrimination and practical good sense. The third pro- 
cess is the formulation of the plan. 

The plan of this book is developed from the definition, 
“ Rhetoric is self-expression through language .” 

The first process in development is invention, and the defini- 
tion gives two centers of thought affording ample material: 
the first is self-expression; the second is language. The first 
chapter in the book displays this material. Self-expression 
gives the themes of Personality and Style and the Modes of 
Style. Language gives the theme of the Elements of Composi- 
tion. These two ideas of self-expression and language are 
mutually dependent throughout the development, finding a 
principle of unity in Rhetoric. 

The second process in the development of the composition 
is the recognition of the nature of the material and the choice 
of the mode of style. The material is prose, the purpose of it 
is for use as a text-book; the mode of style is therefore expo- 
sition. 

The third process is the formulation of the plan. The first 
chapter is naturally a general survey called “The Subject.” 
The succeeding chapters are taken from the Primary Modes 
of Style — “Prose” and “Poetry” ; from the Secondary Modes 
of Style — “Narration,” “Description,” “Exposition,” “Argu- 
mentation,” and from the Elements of Composition — “The 
Composition,” “The Paragraph,” “The Sentence,” “The 
Word,” “The Syllable.” These twelve chapters, each a com- 
position on the subject named, constitute the book “English 
Rhetoric.” The plan as formulated is a matter of individual 
judgment, but the material of the plan and the subjects in- 
cluded in it are not arbitrary at all, but are, rather, the evolu- 
tion of an idea involved in the definition, Rhetoric is self- 
expression through language. 


13 


ii. The Paragraph. — The paragraph is a sentence or 
group of sentences expressing a single thought-progression. It 
is the unit of thinking, developing a single topic, and thus pre- 
senting to the eye in one group a logical unit. The function 
of the paragraph as a part of the composition is to express an 
integral part of the plan with logical completeness. If the 
composition is simple, having but one thought-progression, the 
composition will consist of one paragraph. The paragraph is 
sometimes defined as a composition in miniature. If the sen- 
tence is comprehensive, expressing one complete thought- 
progression, the sentence will make one paragraph. The para- 
graph is frequently a single sentence. The function makes the 
paragraph, and the function of the paragraph is to express a 
single thought-progression. 

The single paragraph is useful for practice-writing, because 
it embodies nearly all the problems of composition, and in so 
short space that mistakes cannot be hid. In the smallest com- 
pass and simplest form mistakes are most easily understood 
and corrected. The importance of paragraph-study is like the 
history of Greece in that all of the problems of government 
find simplest illustration there. 

Go to literature for examples of paragraphs, and fix your 
ideas of paragraph-function and form by a study of these ex- 
amples. You may have the best writers for your teachers. 
You will note that they observe a principle of unity — one 
thought-progression. You will note that they observe a prin- 
ciple of coherence — a progression. There is a thought- 
sequence, inductive or deductive, or both, and in the progress 
of the thought things that belong together stand together. 
Every part of the paragraph is in its own place ; so each part 
is like a link in a chain and all the parts cohere. You will note, 
also, that these writers observe a principle of emphasis — the 
thought-progression begins and ends, and the ending and the 
beginning are the points for which the progression exists. 
The beginnings and endings of paragraphs in good composi- 
tion give a very satisfactory idea of the thought-sequence and 
the trend of development. This is due to the principle of 
emphasis, which puts important things in important places, 
and gives to every part a place commensurate with its im- 
portance. 

Paragraphs in literature, like regiments in action, will show 
you much more than a text-book can. A hundred things you 
will see there that you have not read about before. But this 
that the text-book tells you, you must not fail to learn : the 
structure of the paragraph is based on three principles, — unity , 
coherence , emphasis. " 


H 


12. The Sentence. — The sentence is the unit of style. 
Personal quality inheres in syllables and words, but only in a 
fugitive, incoherent way; in the sentence it becomes coherent 
and unitary. This conditions the importance of the single 
word because rhetorical effects are more dependent on word- 
relations than on single words. 

As the unit of style the sentence is an attractive subject of 
study in literature. Sentence characteristics of the classical 
writers express their distinctive personal qualities and studied 
relatively show the spirit of the age and the tendencies of 
change from one age to another. Even more interesting, 
because more personal, is the sentence in composition, for it 
presents to each one the problem of self-expression reduced to 
its lowest terms — in its simplest form. 

Distinguish clearly the functions of the sentence and the 
paragraph : the sentence is the unit of style expressing a single 
personal effect; the paragraph is the unit of thinking express- 
ing a single thought-progression. When the single personal 
effect is a complete thought-progression the sentence and the 
paragraph are identical. But the sentence is identified with 
style, and the paragraph is identified with invention. Style is 
manner; invention is matter. Style is best when it is impul- 
sive, ingenuous expression, not calculated or planned, and the 
sentence should be written so. Invention is best when it is 
logically planned and elaborated, and the paragraph is there- 
fore consciously planned before it is written. Professor Wen- 
dell states this contrast: 

“Words and sentences are subjects of revision; paragraphs and 
whole compositions are subjects of prevision.” 17 

Good use is authoritative in the sentence and the word. 
This. is the realm of grammar and idiom, where law and cus- 
tom in language have laid down a good broad highway for the 
comfort of all travelers. Discourse is possible between indi- 
viduals only through the medium of a common language 
standardized and conventionalized by good use. This is lib- 
erty under law, where the freedom necessary for the personal 
interpretation of thought and the adequate expression of it is 
best attained through the absolute domination of good use. 

Style centers in the sentence. Seek characteristic sentences 
in well-known writers, and gain exact knowledge of the style 
of each writer. So you will develop sensitiveness to literary 
effects that will make literature as variously pleasing to you 
as the infinite variety of nature. 


1T Barrett Wendell, “English Composition,” p. 117, 


i5 


Observe sentence-length and sentence-form in current liter- 
ature until you have discovered some principle of sentence- 
length and the range of variation from short to long sentences, 
nd until you know the characteristic effects and the right pro- 
portion of loose, periodic, and balanced sentences. Your own 
sentences should be given the same careful scrutiny until you 
know your own habits of composition and can judge of the 
haracter and proportion of your sentences. 

Your s enten ce should express yourself; this is its function. 
)liver Wendell Hoimes says: 

“I know nothing in English or any other literature more admirable 
than that sentiment of Sir Thomas Browne: ‘Every man truly lives, 
•o long as he acts his nature, or some way makes good the faculties 
f himself.’ ” “ 

13. The Word. — A word ,is a c onventional sign. Conven- 
ionality determines its meaning and its character. It is a ma- 
erial thing invested with meafiSg. Th^ meaning is assigned 
o it perhaps through naturaH^sociation, as the lapping of 
vater on stones may have suggested the word murmur for the 
appropriate sign of a low, continued sound. A word is inor- 
ganic ; properly speaking it does not grow, for growth is from 
within. Words take on significance, not through essential 
neaning but through assigned meaning, which is influenced 
ind modified by associations in use. Good use gives character 
.0 words, and it is important to remember that in the current 
ianguage' of a living people good use is continuously changing. 

The principle of conventionality, in virtue of which words 
get their meaning, prevents us from relying entirely on root- 
neanings. The word may have become the sign of the idea 
without any accurate knowledge of its etymological fitness. 
There are popular etymological interpretations, fascinating in 
• heir suggestiveness, but quite foreign to the actual origin and 
use of the word. This does not detract from the value of 
etymological study; it makes us cautious, rather, to verify the 
esults of such study by good use, both in the origin and in the 
>resent character of the word. 

The principle of conventionality prevents us from relying 
>n literal meanings. Social phrases are to be used and inter- 
acted in accordance with the meanings that good use has 
given them, and many of these meanings are very far from 
iteral. Ironical phrases have a meaning the very opposite of 
literal, and good use employs irony. 

“Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894), “The Autocrat of the Break- 
last Table.” 


/ 


A word gains and retains the characteristics of an organism 
through the vital forces of personality. Use gives life and 
good use gives character. Beware of the phantoms of theory 
in the use of words. Study rather how words are actually 
used. 

Analytical study of living words will reveal the fine gold of 
good use. Seek technical, accurate knowledge of words. 
Etymology is the study of individual words ; it includes, three 
fields, — the classification of words according to their functions 
into parts of speech, the inflection of words according to their 
relations for the purposes of composition, and the derivation 
of words showing their origin and structure. 

Knowledge is power in this realm. An etymological dic- 
tionary will give you glimpses of the riches of meaning that 
have been lavished on words; a more intimate knowledge of 
words is gained by studying the language from which the 
words ar~ 



About eighteen per cent (^f the words in current prose. are 


These derivatives are a 


derived 


very important part of the English vocabulary. Good use is 
so far based on a scholarly appreciation of the sources of these 
words that the study of Latin is almost indispensable to 
English. 

Philology is inseparable from composition and literature. 
Every literary force has its mode of expression in language; 
and intimate, accurate knowledge of language will reveal the 
means of expression, will put it within reach of him who de- 
sires to express himself, and will make him sensitively appre- 
ciative of literary influence. The study of language centers in 
the word and the sentence. These two cannot be studied to 
good purpose without recognizing how they are bound up to- 
gether. Etymology treats of individual words, syntax treats 
of word-relations; etymology pertains to the word, syntax to 
the sentence. But we come to know words as we fitoiffiem in 
sentences and not in isolation. We always appro^BE etymol- 
ogy through syntax — the isolated word through thes^itence. 
It is from the sentence as the unit of personal effect that the 
word derives its personal power. Etymology invests the word 
with thought ; syntax invests the word with the personal power 
of the Self. 

The life-history of a word is a very interesting thing. Mark 
Twain beguiled the hours in the stage-coach, in the early days 
on the plains, with reading the dictionary, finding it interesting 
to see how the characters turned out. If you would know 
what words can do and how they are turning out, you must 
learn their whole life-history from beginning to end, from the 
dictionary to the central currents of the world. You must 


know what the word was in its origin, and what it has become 
in use. It comes into experience as a factor in literature, and 
if you are to feel the power of it and attain control of it in 
composition, you must know it as a fact in language. 

Great writers use words justly. Ruskin comments on the 
phrase^BImH mouths/’ in Milton’s ‘“ 1f Xycidas/* applied to 
bishops and pastors in the church: 

“Those two monosyllables express the precisely accurate contraries of 
right character, in the two great offices of the Church — those of bishop 
and pastor.” 

“A Bishop means a person who sees.” 

“A Pastor means one who feeds.” 

“The most unbishoply character a man can have is, therefore, to be 
Blind.” 

“The most unpastoral is, instead of feeding, to want to be fed — to be 
a Mouth.” 

“Take the two reverses together, and you have ‘blind mouths/ ” 19 

Such study helps to understand why some writings live. 
As with natural objects showing under the microscope new 
wonders of structural beauty, some writings are essentially so 
fine that analysis displays new beauty of thought and style. 

14. The Syllable. — The syllable is the unit of sound. It is 
the musician’s realm. ATTof the musical effects that envelop 
the meaning of words like atmosphere have their origin in the 
syllable. This is the least of the elements; its function is mere 
sound. But it makes or mars the effectiveness of the compo- 
sition. It will help us appreciate the power and importance of 
this element to consider that the very essence of literature is 
spiritual expressiveness, and that 1 music interprets spiritual 
things directly to the soul. The syllable is a combination of 
letters coalescing into one sound, and this sound is the musical 
note that gives to language the hidden soul of harmony. 

The Lark figure in Jeremy Taylor’s Golden Grove Sermons 
is a melody kept in memory through many generations because 
of its sweet sound: 

“For so have I seen a lark rising from his bed of grass, and soaring 
upwards, singing as he rises and hopes to get to heaven and climb above 
the clouds; but the poor bird was beaten back with the loud sighings 
of an eastern wind, and his motion made irregular and inconstant, 
descending more at every breath of the tempest than it could recover 
by the libration and frequent weighing of his wings; till the little 
creature was forced to sit down and pant and stay till the storm was 
over; and then it made a prosperous flight and did rise and sing as if 
it had learned music and motion from an angel as he passed sometimes 
through the air about his ministries here below. So is the prayer of a 
good man.” 20 


^John Ruskin, “Sesame and Lilies.” 

20 Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667), “Golden Grove,” 1655. 


i8 


Lowell wrote of this: 

“What an open air is here ! How unpremeditated it all seems ! How 
carelessly he knots each new thought, as it comes, to the one before it 
with an ‘and/ like a girl making lace! And what a slidingly musical 
use he makes of the sibilants with which our language is unjustly taxed 
by those who can only make them hiss, not sing” ! 21 

Thirty per cent of the words have these sibilants, and they 
are so used that they give the thin bird note that imparts a 
sweet realism to the figure of the lark “singing as he rises.” 

The fascination of nursery rhymes and the Mother Goose 
melodies is mainly that of sound. If you read aloud from dif- 
ferent books you will note that some composition reads easily, 
and some with difficulty; some flows like running water, and 
some has snags in it. The difference is in the syllables giving 
the sound-succession to the phrase. Some phrases are musical 
and some are not. Those who, like Cassius, hear no music are 
sadly bereft both in criticism and in composition, for tone- 
quality in language, like the background of a picture, condi- 
tions every element in it. The most obvious effect of primitive 
language was probably onomatopoeia, and we still expect in 
all literature that the sound will be an echo to the sense. 

The composition that is not musical is not rhetorical. Eu- 
phony, melody, rhythm are effects of the syllable ; and the con- 
geniality of truth, as the Self experiences it, is a deeper phase 
of harmony that blends with the sound of the syllables into the 
satisfying music of literary composition. 

Observe the syllables in the hymns that are sung in public 
worship. Bishop Ken’s stanza beginning, 

“Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,” 26 

became the doxology of the churches because it is written in 
syllables that will sing. 

Study the sound-successions in the literature that you read. 
A single sound-succession constitutes a musical phrase; the 
succession of the phrases gives rhythm. The first sentence of 
“The Merry Men” is a personal effect in which the redolence 
of narrative breathes through musical phrases: 

It was a beautiful morning 

in the late July 

when I set forth on foot 

for the last time 

for Aros. 23 


81 James Russell Lowell (1819-1891), Prose Works, vol. 3, p. 121. 

22 Thomas Ken (1637-1711), Bishop of Bath and Wells. 

23 Robert Louis Stevenson, “The Merry Men.” 


19 


Tone is the effect of rhetorical expression upon the sensibili- 
ties. Tone-effect is produced by a relation of tones; the sense 
of incompleteness caused by one tone or monotony is a prac- 
tical demonstration that the unit of tone-effect is not a tone 
but a tone-relation. 

Tone is not merely an appeal to the ear; it is an appeal, also, 
to the imagination and the understanding. Tone-effect is ex- 
tremely complex. The elements of it may be infinitely various, 
but they must work together into harmony. The sum of abso- 
lute requirement is tone-unity. 

Tone-unity is the effect of a progression of tones in a con- 
sistent and pleasing sequence, presenting a single tone theme 
like the air in music. Tone consistently admits swift changes 
in succession — sharp contrast and tone relief. It admits epic 
tranquillity of movement, and dramatic intensity, and lyric 
variability if only the whole work together to a unity. But 
there must be no incongruity. Incongruity of tone is like a 
mixed metaphor. There may be many figures presented to the 
imagination in a succession as swift as that of the vitascope, 
and so long as the effects are clear and distinct there is no 
mixed metaphor. But when the figures become mixed and be- 
cloud one another, the result is a mixed metaphor. There is a 
moment when the lines of a stereopticon picture are crossed 
and obscured by the picture that is to follow. One picture 
spoils the other. Such is the effect of incongruity of tone. 
There are few principles of composition of greater practical 
importance than that the tone theme of the discourse be con- 
sistently maintained. 

Tone-effect may be studied and presented in a tone-chart of 
co-ordinate squares in which the horizontal lines present a 
scale of tone-effects and the vertical lines the successive tone- 
effects in the composition. The connecting of these effects 
duly tabulated gives a wave line of tone-effect throughout. A 
serviceable tone-scale is the following: comic, light, neutral , 
serious, grave, tense, tragic . 

15. The Making of a Writer. — There is a little allegory in 
“The Compleat Angler” which is not less applicable to writing 
than to fishing : 

“ Venator . — Master, I can neither catch with the first nor second 
angle: I have no fortune. 

(( Piscator . — Look you, Scholar, I have yet another. And now, having 
caught three brace of Trouts, I will tell you a short tale as we walk 
towards our breakfast. A scholar, a preacher I should say, that was to 
preach to procure the approbation of a parish, that he might be their 
lecturer, had got from his fellow-pupil the copy of a sermon that was 
first preached with great commendation by him that composed it; and 


20 


though the borrower of it preached it word for word, as it was at 
first, yet it was utterly disliked as it was preached by the second to his 
congregation ; which the sermon-borrower, complained of to the lender 
of it, and was thus answered : ‘I lent you indeed my fiddle, but not my 
fiddlestick; for you are to know, that every one cannot make music 
with my words, which are fitted for my own mouth/ And so, my 
Scholar, you are to know, that as the ill pronunciation or ill accenting 
of words in a sermon spoils it, so the ill carriage of your line, or not 
fishing even to a foot in a right place, makes you lose your labour ; and 
you are to know, that though you have my fiddle, that is, my very rod 
and tackling with which you see I catch fish, yet you have not my fiddle- 
stick : that is, you yet have not skill to know how to carry your hand 
and line, nor how to guide it to a right place : and this must be taught 
you ; — for you are to remember I told you Angling is an art — either by 
practice, or a long observation, or both/’ 24 

As rhetoric is self-expression, the making of a writer begins 
with the Self. Being is the thing of first importance — not 
merely life, but living. Experience is the next thing — not 
merely observing or hearing or reading, but doing. Technic 
is the third thing — not merely knowledge of right usage, but 
the usage itself, instinctive, habitual, natural. If you would be 
a writer, these three principles will regulate your training. Be 
alive, seek experience, study the technic of language. Do 
not seek to reverse the order of these three. Technic may 
be perfect and yet without expression ; it may be faultless and 
yet fail to interpret the thought of the Self. Language may 
be correctly used, and yet be devoid of either soul or intelli- 
gibility. 

Rhetorical education properly begins with the motive. Per- 
sonal force generates interest in personal experience, and this 
interest compels self-expression. Composition that is pro- 
duced in this way is generally good. It should under normal 
conditions approximate in interest and quality the experience 
which it expresses. Of course, if the habitual use of language 
is illiterate or vicious, the language will be a very inadequate 
medium for expressing anything fine. But this is not ordi- 
narily the case with those who seriously study rhetoric. To 
have something to say is a good preparation for self-expres- 
sion. 

Quicken the Self until infinite forces of personality envelop 
you. In your own sphere you can develop an atmosphere; 
within your own sphere you can be self-expressive, and there- 
fore rhetorical. Do not attempt to speak or write about things 
beyond your knowledge and interest. Composition should fol- 
low your personal development and education, having as a 
subject anything that has entered into your experience. 


24 Izaak Walton (1593-1683), “The Compleat Angler,” Part I. 


21 


Experience deserves higher consideration than it gets. 
Listen to a person speaking about different things, and note the 
new quality in his voice when he touches upon things of per- 
sonal experience. The rest was recital or hearsay, but this is 
a living reality. The audience listening to a speaker stirs in- 
stantly at the sound of a living word. Such words are remem- 
bered when other words are forgotten. 

To enter into things in a whole-souled way — knowing, and 
feeling, and willing — is the primary essential preparation for 
self-expression. The medium of the mother-tongue is so nat- 
urally subservient to us that the strength and the fineness of 
the motive inspires and refines the language. Experience 
things sensitively, deeply, thoroughly, and the time will come 
when you must speak. Such speech is impulsive, natural, 
direct, simple, vital. Such speech is self-expression. 

The artlessness that is the highest art is supreme natural- 
ness. The language is simple ; the words are the usual words 
of common life ; the medium of expression has no aspect that 
would attract attention to itself. Where are such words 
found? They are everywhere; they are the words we use 
when we do not think about the words at all. We use such 
words when we really want to say something. When the mo- 
tive is really strong enough we always use such words. 

Liberal education gives us knowledge and power. It teaches 
many things enlarging individual knowledge by admitting us, 
through instruction, to the world’s store of knowledge. It 
exercises our own powers also, developing and training and 
refining them until we are conscious of the infinite forces of 
the soul, and until we, ourselves, are both receptive and ex- 
pressive. 

Character, thought, and technic are of elemental importance 
to the writer. Character gives permanence to thought, but 
thought without character has worked the world’s undoing; 
technic without thought is the bane of common life. Technic, 
thought and character should be developed wholesomely to- 
gether. 

Character is a real force in literature. It is an appreciating 
or depreciating influence, and it is to be rightly sought in com- 
position. Wholesomeness, magnanimity, — love, power, and a 
sound mind will inform words with like qualities. Individual 
and ethnic traits underlie good English writing. Language is 
the adaptable medium of temperament, habit, sentiment, con- 
viction, character; idiomatic English is the projection of all 
these. English quality is in English speech. To write Eng- 
lish naturally, be sincere, energetic, self-reliant, brave, sympa- 
thetic, religious: these are characteristics of the English-speak- 
ing race. If you would write English, be English. 


22 


“Thou there, the thing for thee to do is, if possible, to cease to be 
a hollow sounding shell of hearsays, egoisms, purblind dilettantisms, 
and become, were it on an infinitely small scale, a faithful, discerning 
soul. Thou shalt descend into thy inner man, and see if there be any 
traces of a soul there ; till then there can be nothing done.” 25 

Thought is the atmosphere in which mind lives. Without 
thought consciousness would flicker out like candle-light in a 
vacuum. We cannot help thinking: it is hard only to think 
well. For this we need mental discipline. We work in the 
world’s laboratories, and we are in the realm of law. 

Think clearly and 'consistently, not in vagaries like a will o’ 
the wisp. Mass your thinking on one thing. Analyze, and 
analyze to the last analysis, and so, as we say, think it out. 
There is a plan in everything — find it. There is a cry in con- 
sciousness like the voice in Kipling’s “Explorer” : 

“Till a voice, as bad as Conscience, rang interminable changes 
On one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated— so: 

‘Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges — 
Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go !’ ”“ 

Have the courage to go. Intellectual courage is rare and of 
a high order, and its reward is the wealth of the Indies. 
Bacon’s Novum Organum bears the device of a ship coming in 
from sea. Do not be afraid to think: there is still good coun- 
sel and a compass and the friendly stars. 

Technic is handicraft. It is the rhetorician’s way of hand- 
ling language ; it is his characteristic execution in the processes 
of composition. 

Faults of technic are bad habits in writing, and, like all 
habits, hard to change. Daily themes give facility in writing, 
but they are better calculated to confirm bad habits than to 
break them up. Much writing affects technic like heavy 
wheels on a highway, making the ruts deeper. The best way 
is not daily themes presenting new problems and diverting 
from old ones, but daily practice on old problems until they 
are solved, and faults eradicated, and correct procedure fixed 
in practice. One theme rewritten until it is perfected is worth 
far more than one theme criticised and discussed. Bad habits 
are rarely broken up by criticism. 

I wrote a theme yesterday, and liked it very well. This was 
largely emotional, for the subject was good, and there were 
encouraging visions of it. To-day I return to my theme, and 
find it different. It has been criticised, its faults noted, and, 
in addition, it does not seem as good. Emotion has gone, and 

“Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881), “Past and Present.” 

“Rudyard Kipling, “Collected Verse,” p. 19. 


23 


judgment controls. I see faults, and try to correct them. I 
become conscious of bad habits in technic, and resolve to break 
them. 

Language is a material medium, and it absorbs personal 
force ; there is loss in transmission from the Self to the Other- 
Self — the better the technic the less the loss. Gain and retain 
control of the medium of expression. Use language under the 
influence of all the best usage. Expressiveness is the result of 
sound theory and practice. If you would be a writer, write — * 
and the practice needed to make you proficient is also needed 
to keep you so. 

In the mental process of composition the thing we wish to 
say flashes into consciousness as a complete organism. Nearly 
all writing is diffuse; we express what we wish to say and 
usually a good deal more. If we write naturally, we shall find 
that we have used all the words that we need. The common 
task of revision is to get rid of useless words. We do not add 
or recast, but we strike out words and phrases, taking care to 
safeguard idiomatic quality, and in the process the thing we 
wish to say comes to full expression. Stevenson wrote: 
"‘There is but one art — to omit ! Oh, if I knew how to omit, 
I wbuTd^ - ask’‘Tro ‘Other knowledge !” 

English composition is a fine art and not a trade. Yet it 
has sometimes been treated as a trade. Anxiety to escape the 
reproach of bad English has often resulted in the schools in 
centering attention on the form of good English as though it 
were all a question of mechanism. The daily theme, the 
theory of imitation and the use of models, the low plane of 
practicality — all these are wrong if rhetoric is self-expression. 
Liberal education is not in the business with commercial 
schools and language schools : then would our students be like 
clerks well-versed for correspondence, or like summer travel- 
ers prepared in foreign languages. In English composition, 
as elsewhere, the letter killeth. It is the spirit of good Eng- 
lish that should be fostered by the culture and refinement of 
young men and young women who write English. 

The fine arts demand perfect technic and develop it not me- 
chanically, but in an organic way. In self-expression the effi- 
cient, formative influence is personal; spiritual force develops 
individual style in language. Proper technic is mastered only 
through practice with the proper motive. Composition that 
lacks a sufficient personal cause, that is imitative, and super- 
ficial, and stereotyped, is like sounding brass or a tinkling cym- 
bal. It may be quite correct, but it cannot be rhetorical, for 
rhetoric is self-expression. 

Of our English language we should note that it is a medium 
of expression ; that it is our mother-tongue used naturally with 


24 


the affectionate carelessness that marks our use of all home 
comforts ; that it sensitively adapts itself to the people who use 
it, taking the quality and tone of their thoughts, their moods, 
and their character. The whole subject of good and bad Eng- 
lish is expressed in a little allegory; we shall not need to go 
outside of our own consciousness to understand it : 

“Doth a fountain send forth at the same place sweet water and 
bitter” ? 27 

The circle of conscious personality is Prospero’s island. 
The writer listens to the voices that come from the world 
without and broods on the infinite influences within, and, like 
the magician, studies the book of his magic. The writer be- 
comes the servant of the word to the end that he may assert 
control over it. So the word becomes doubly expressive — 
body and soul — and the writer uses language as Prospero used 
Caliban and Ariel . 28 


17 Epistle of James 3, II. 
88 “The Tempest” 


CHAPTER II 


PROSE. 


i. The Literal Mode. — The primary modes of style are 
poetry and prose ; poetry is figurative, prose is literal ; poetry 
is the creation of the imagination, prose is the construction of 
the reason. Spirit and matter are two kinds of reality consti- 
tuting the subjects of thought. When these two kinds are 
expressed in combination, the material serving as a figure to 
express the spiritual, we have essential poetry; when either 
kind is expressed separately in literal isolation, we have essen- 
tial prose. 

We should distinguish essential and formal. Formal prose 
may incorporate essential poetry ; figures of speech, metaphor- 
ical expressions, epithets are essentially poetic and they are 
found to some extent in all prose. Some imaginative influence 
exists in all prose, because language itself, expressing spiritual 
force through a material medium, is a poetic mode. This 
imaginative influence may become strong through infusion of 
essential poetry until we have the imaginative type which we 
call poetic prose. Formal poetry is verse and it may, un- 
happily, contain essential prose presenting ideas literally. 
Poetry is always weakened by a mixture of prose, but prose 
may be dignified by the felicitous influences of poetry. 

Prose is sermo pedestris, talk on foot, as reason goes — step 
by step ; it is opposed to the winged speech of the imagination 
aspiring with Pegasus. The life-history of the word prose 
begins with the phrase oratio pro versa , that is, speech turned 
forwards, as opposed to the recurrent conditions of verse — 
oratio versa. In prose every element should forward the 
sense. Prose may use poetic quality without losing its dis- 
tinctive character so long as the spirit of ratiocination prevails, 
subordinating all elements to itself. When processes of rea- 
soning fade in the illumination of spiritual vision the mode of 
expression ceases to be prose. 

Prose is the mode of self-expression natural to processes of 
reasoning. It is the prime minister of reason. Hence it is 
that when mere rational activity constitutes the chief motive 
in the use of language the result is prose. Common life is 

(25) 


26 


controlled by reason, and all the expression of it is prose. 
It fills books, and papers, and conversation, and thinking. 

Prose is the servant of reason bringing personality into rela- 
tion with objective truth. Clearness and force are essential 
attributes of prose , — clearness in order that the truth shall not 
fail to be understood, and force in order that it shall be related 
to personality. The language of prose should be so clear as to 
become almost invisible; it should be simple, direct, natural. 
Such language is the most efficient medium of force also, for 
force is personal and essential; and words should not be per- 
mitted to interfere with it. 

Prose has an objective purpose, to make truth known. It 
faces outward, is assertive and aggressive. It is a militant 
mode, and is therefore intensely vitalized with personality. 

This it is that gives rhythm to literary prose. All literature 
has the heart-beat of rhythm, prose not less than poetry. It is 
an undertone infinitely various, musical and satisfying. It is 
not easier to write prose than poetry; it is different. And 
there are fewer great prose writers than there are great poets. 

The ideal of prose is well implied in Frederic Harrison’s 
tribute to Plato: 

“I never doubt that the greatest master of prose in recorded history 
is Plato. He alone (like Homer in poetry) is perfect. He has every 
mood, and all are faultless. He is easy, lucid, graceful, witty, pathetic, 
imaginative . by turns ; but in all kinds he is natural and inimitably 
sweet. He is never obscure, never abrupt, never tedious, never affected. 
He shows us as it were his own Athene, wisdom incarnate in immortal 
radiance of form.” 1 

In the same address Mr. Plarrison says : 

“Read Swift, Defoe, Goldsmith, if you care to know what is pure 
English. I need hardly tell you to read another and a greater Book. 
The Book which begot English prose still remains its supreme type. 
The English Bible is the true school of English literature.” 

2. Standard Prose. — The prose motive relating personality 
with truth has developed a standard of prose. Through many 
generations good usage under the modifying influence of ex- 
perience has tended to change the form of prose expression in 
the lines of least resistance and greatest effectiveness. Mod- 
ern English prose begins with the age of Elizabeth. Eliza- 
bethan prose was written in long rolling periods, Ciceronian 
sentences, clause on clause, which our uninflected language left 
relatively formless and vague. Men wrote as they thought in 

*"On English Prose.” An address to the Bodley Literary Society, 
Oxford. Plato was born at Aegina, 429 or 427 B C., and died at 
Athens, 347. 


27 


the silences of study without conscious adaptation to the reader 
or the occasion. There were majesty of thought and felicity 
of genius, but there was no standard. 

Elizabethan prose was the work of genius. It is a labyrinth 
with a golden thread in it. It is organic with wonderful per- 
sonal influences, but the mechanism of it is defective. The 
complete circle of adaptation would fit the word to the thought, 
to the Self, to the Other-Self, to the occasion. But Eliza- 
bethan prose recognized only the first two. Genius easily for- 
gets all but the thought and the Self ; and so prose was won- 
derful, but selfish. Less gifted men in the eighteenth century 
set themselves to complete the circle of adaptation. Recog- 
nizing the two neglected factors of the Other-Self and the 
occasion, they became zealous to serve men and the time. It 
was the achievement of the Spectator to bring philosophy to 
the service of men and to make literature current in coffee- 
houses. Diction became simple, sentences short, paragraphs 
helpful, composition natural, style mannerly. The eighteenth 
century essayists completed the circle of adaptation and gave 
to English prose a standard. 

Swift’s definition of style as “proper words in proper 
places” suggests conscious adaptation for a purpose. Prose 
has an objective aim and everything should contribute to it; 
all the elements of composition should subserve it. Professor 
Genung says, “The ruling standard of choice made imperative 
by the dominating prose mood is utility.” 2 Adaptation for 
utility results in prose forms so diversified that we recognize 
different standards and types. 

Out of the relation of the Self to the occasion and the 
Other-Self arise a colloquial standard, a literary standard, and 
an oratorical standard. Out of the relation of the Self to the 
thought arise distinct types of prose, an intellectual type, an 
impassioned type, and an imaginative type. 

3. The Colloquial Standard. — The key to the colloquial 
standard is the spoken word and its motive is momentariness. 
The colloquial standard is the mode of dialogue, of conversa- 
tion, of talk; it is spoken or written colloquy. Colloquial prose 
is ninety per cent Anglo-Saxon, — words that have been cur- 
rent a thousand years : the words of the study do not mix with 
the crowd. Colloquial words are eighty per cent monosyl- 
lables ; they are the frame-work and connections of language, 
and the words of daily associations, of the senses, of the emo- 
tions and the will. Such prose is packed with idioms giving 
familiar English quality, for idiomatic quality is just the Eng- 


2 John F. Genung, “Working Principles of Rhetoric,” p. 109. 


28 


ush way of saying the thing. Sentences are short enough to 
be spoken in one breath and loose enough for fluency and ease. 

When men talk face to face self-expression is the joint 
product of language, looks, gestures, and immediate personal 
influence. Such colloquial language when written down is 
often fragmentary in its effect, lacking detail, continuity, and 
smoothness. At the same time colloquy is a personal incentive 
to the imagination, so strong that all of the elements are af- 
fected by it. The prose that is in flight like a weaver’s shuttle, 
flashing the colors into the web, makes a fabric marked with 
impressionism, iteration, abruptness, and hyperbole. 

The first characteristic is impressionism. The genius of the 
colloquial standard is the immediate and momentary impres- 
sion. This we must utilize, for this is all we can count on. 
The spoken word does not linger. Like the wind that passes 
and is gone, so is a tale that is told. In the passing moment 
we express what we can of general truth or fact, we stir the 
imagination, we seek the sense of personal connection and re- 
sponse. Colloquial expression is impatient of elaboration and 
detail; like the wind, its driving power is in initial impact. 
The most characteristic marks of the colloquial standard are 
color and mass and impressionistic effects ; and these, like the 
rainbow, are fading colors. 

The second characteristic is iteration. Fleeting impressions 
can be made permanent only by forms of repetition both in 
identical and in different terms. Important things need 
emphasis and amplification; things hard to understand need 
to be held in consciousness a little while, like the top of the 
wave on the beach sinking into the sand. The subjects of 
spoken discourse are practical, dealing with real issues need- 
ing to be known and felt, and to this end we say the same thing 
in many ways, explaining, illustrating, reiterating, until the 
subject becomes of absorbing interest. 

The third characteristic is abruptness. This is caused by 
the sensitive adjustment of language to responsive personal 
influences, and by co-operation with voice inflections, looks, 
and gestures. Colloquial expression utilizes all these. Swift 
changes of thought and mood leave language by turns, — de- 
clarative, exclamatory, interrogative, now suggestive, or an- 
ticipate, or digressive. And the abruptness becomes more 
obvious with the strengthening of the imagination and the 
acceleration of the movement. 

The fourth characteristic is hyperbole. This is not absolute 
exaggeration ; it is emotionally intense speech, the natural 
expression of an emotional state in which alone it should be 
conceived and interpreted. The personal, sympathetic atmos- 
phere of colloquy diffuses radiance through colorless thought, 


29 


making words and phrases like splashes of red. This is 
hyperbole, interpreted emotionally, correcting itself in the 
reassertion of the normal intellective mood. It is an interest- 
ing means of telling the truth under the special conditions of 
colloquial discourse. 

Colloquial language at its best is self-expression so intense 
that the consciousness of the medium has entirely disappeared. 
Such unstudied speech is full of grace and spiritual influence. 
Like gray clouds reflecting light beyond the sunset, such prose 
suffused with transcendent beauty becomes poetry. An ex- 
ample of this is the following from the Book of Ruth : 

“Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: 
for whither thou goest, I witfgo; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; 
thy people shall be my people, and thy God, my God ; where thou diest, 
will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more 
also, if aught but death part thee and me.” * 

4. The Literary Standard. — The key to the literary stand- 
ard is the written word, and its motive is permanency . The 
problem of the literary standard is differenFlTrT^ery^ factor 
from that of the spoken word, the motive of which is pri- 
marily momentariness. With the spoken word immediate 
personal relations and effects give a characteristic attitude to 
speaker and hearer; a qualifying influence to the occasion, to 
the fibre of the thought, and to the choice and use of words. 
With the written word thought is the controlling factor. The 
literary standard arises amid the cloisteral silences of the 
study. In such surroundings a cultured, rational control tests 
and refines and tempers expression, and gives to the literary 
standard qualities and forms of permanency. In such sur- 
roundings the appeal of action has dreamy remoteness and 
emotional moods are tranquillized by the quietness of the 
world of thought. This is the realm of the scientific and 
philosophic mind. 

In the literary standard the deep currents of thought influ- 
ence the diction : twenty per cent of the words are of classical 
derivation and thirty per cent are words of more than one 
syllable, and the moods of reflection expressed by these words 
give character to the entire structure of expression, making the 
language of books quite different from the spoken language. 

The literary standard has atmosphere ; it is the atmosphere 
of thought, of the immortal mind. This atmosphere of men- 
tality characterizes the literary standard in its essence, tone, 
movements and motive. Whether its structure be loose, pe- 
riodic or balanced; whether its tone be grave, neutral or 


Book of Ruth, 1, 16-17. 


30 


light, — all literary prose has a grace of intellection which is 
derived from the alembic of the mind, and a stateliness de- 
rived from perceptions of truth. This atmosphere of literary 
prose is a fragrance inseparable from truth. Spiritual asso- 
ciations which attend literary prose from its origin affect us 
like the lingering sweetness of old flowers. 

The literary standard has solidarity. It has mass involving 
three dimensions; something of the Roman virtue gravitas, a 
dignity of form given it by weight of thought ; it has character, 
a moral influence arising from the subordination of thought 
to truth. This precludes freaks and fads, abbreviations, stock 
and cant phrases, slang and puns, which the strenuous world 
thrusts in upon the quietness of the study. Even when such 
forms have reputable rhetorical quality they are too superficial 
to meet the literary ideals of permanency, and their colloquial 
character gives them a tone that is hopelessly inharmonious. 

The literary standard has epic movement. It has a conven- 
tional undulation of rhythm long and unhasting and even, like 
ocean surges, where thought has sea-room. In thinking, as in 
other things, a man is known by the company he keeps. To 
find yourself thinking with Plato through all these generations, 
begets quietness and serenity of mind. And this is the strength 
of literary prose, the strength of immortal associations, the 
assertion of infinite personality under conditions o f abstract 
thinking, lightening the limitations of time. 

This is the realm of deep thinking, where the mind grapples 
with Things. 

“They have wakened the timeless Things,” 

writes Kipling, and his song of “The Deep-Sea Cables’’ 4 is an 
allegory of literary prose, 

— “here on the tie-ribs of earth 
“Words, and the words of men, flicker and flutter and beat.” 

5. The Oratorical Standard.— The oratorical standard is 
a composite of the colloquial and the literary. The orator at 
the beginning speaks with colloquial naturalness, and his words 
have the quality and marks of the colloquial standard and the 
atmosphere is that of a company in complete accord, and there 
is a stir such as arises in the common interests of conversation. 

Then he states his theme, and the people begin to listen, and 
a hush falls upon them, and each person forgets his surround- 
ings and deems himself alone, as he follows the orator into the 
depths of thought. And the hearer forgets himself, even for- 


* Kipling, “Collected Verse,” p. 89. 


3i 


gets the orator, in the vision of things that burn like fire in the 
night. And every soul is alone in the midst of the crowd. 
The cloisteral silence of the study has fallen upon the hall and 
it is a place where literature can be made. 

The words of the orator are no longer of the colloquial 
standard, but the power of things that are not seen, that lie 
just back of the things of the senses, gives to such speech with 
instinctive propriety the dignity of the literary standard. 

Then the spell is broken and the audience stirs as from a 
sleep, and each one looks at his neighbor as though meeting 
him again after separation 

The power of the orator is the subjectivity of the colloquial 
standard, intensely self-expressive, leading naturally to the 
impressiveness of deep feeling; and the objectivity of the 
literary standard leading into the realms of deep thinking, the 
native air of the mind. 

The problem of the oratorical standard differs from that of 
the colloquial standard in two of the factors — the Other-Self 
and the occasion. Instead of one hearer, there are many, and 
this usually means that a kind friend has been replaced by a 
critical public. Instead of an informal meeting, there is a set 
occasion, and this usually means that a felicity of naturalness 
has been replaced by a constraint of formalism which must be 
deferred to and at the same time overcome. 

The oratorical standard is fundamentally colloquial , with 
marks of impressionism, iteration, abruptness and hyperbole. 
This is due to the pervasiveness of immediate personal rela- 
tions and the influence of the spoken word. Under the condi- 
tions of normal oratorical diction, colloquial traits are mod- 
erated by the other factors in the problem. 

The oratorical standard is conventional. It is standardized 
by the personal relation between a speaker and an audience of 
many hearers, as colloquial speech is by the relation with one 
hearer. The speaker contemplates not an individual relation, 
but many such relations, and the effectiveness of his appeal lies 
in universal truth, in community of need and interest, and in 
general in the principle of conventionality. The things that 
can be agreed upon influence the choice of word and phrase 
and figure, and all the atmosphere and material of thought. 
These are the universal things — the vital truths and feelings, 
and the touch of nature that makes the whole world kin. This 
is the imperial conservatism which under any name — common 
sense, commonplace, conventionality — is the stability of the 
race. The speeches of Webster deal with such questions, im- 
pressive with human interest. The great forces were akin to 
him and naturally his themes were the ends of justice, or the 
incentives of patriot memorials, or the meaning and the de- 


32 


fense of the Constitution. His imagination was like his 
themes. There is something of Milton and Dante in it; there 
are visions and dreams in it. The funeral oration on Adams 
and Jefferson proceeds with epic grandeur and solemnity; it 
stirs the imagination like moonlight over some debatable land 
where shadows of great Presences move: 

“Although no sculptured marble should rise to their memory, nor 
engraved stone bear record of their deeds, yet will their remembrance 
be so lasting as the land they honored. Marble columns may, indeed, 
moulder into dust, time may erase all impress from the crumbling stone, 
but their fame remains ; for with American liberty it rose, and with 
American liberty only can it perish. It was the last swelling peal of 
yonder choir, ‘Their bones are buried in peace, but their name liveth 
evermore/ I catch that solemn song, I echo that lofty strain of funeral 
triumph, ‘Their name liveth evermore/ ” 6 

The oratorical standard is simple. Conventionality develops 
severe simplicity; it tends to exclude subtleties of thought, 
complexities of expression, and extravagancies of emotion. 
Simplicity may be studied in the diction, and the sentence 
structure, and the rhythmic movement of Webster’s First 
Bunker Hill Oration. 6 The average number of words to the 
sentence is 24.7. Most of the sentences, however, are much 
shorter than this, because the general average is raised by a 
few long sentences. There are four having, respectively, 109, 
109, 107, 106 words. Fifty-eight of the sentences, or 21.6 
per cent, are simple in structure and average but ten words to 
the sentence. These short sentences are characteristic force- 
centers that vitalize the whole structure of the oration, and the 
long sentences are great waves of appeal to the primary mo- 
tives of human action. There is grand simplicity in it. 

The oratorical standard is formally intellective. The public, 
less sympathetic than the kind friend, requires the formal 
recognition of reason. Logical signs characterize oratory; 
especially suggestive of the close thought-structure is the use 
o f initial conjunctions. In the First Bunker Hill Oration 
eighteen per cent of the sentences begin with conjunctions. 
But is used twelve times, And nine times, If four times. Two 
hundred sentences from Burke show eleven per cent with ini- 
tial conjunctions, and five hundred sentences from Gladstone 
show twenty-five per cent with initial conjunctions. The in- 
tellective quality in all oratory is unduly emphasized by the 
written form in which most orations come to us. Edmund 
Burke is remembered as the glory of the House of Commons, 
but the density of the intellective atmosphere of his written 

“Daniel Webster (1782-1852), Oration on Adams and Jefferson, 1826 

Address at the laying of the corner-stone of Bunker Hill Monu- 
ment in 1325. 


33 


orations leaves us wondering how this can be. We read the 
orations of Webster, clause on clause successively rising to 
some great climax, and sometimes the movement seems slow, 
and the thought heavy, and the accumulation of power labored, 
and the suspense burdensome, — then with a mighty accelera- 
tion the great billow rears its crest and with a kind of awe we 
remember that the men who were borne on the surge of these 
periods were in the personal presence of Daniel Webster. 

The oratorical standard is eloquent. This is the extreme 
manifestation of self-expression. I thought I knew my friend 
until I heard him speak to the people, and then I began to be 
in awe of him. Congenial influence, like enchantment, filled 
the place; the occasion spoke for him, and everything the 
senses perceived was a ministering spirit. 

On the evening after Webster’s Plymouth Oration, Decem- 
ber 22, 1820, George Ticknor wrote in his journal: 

“His manner carried me away completely. * * * It must have 

been a great, a very great performance, but whether it was so abso- 
lutely unrivaled as I imagined when I was under the immediate in- 
fluence of his presence, of his tones, of his looks, I cannot be sure till 
I have read it, for it seems to me incredible. I was never so excited 
by public speaking before in my life. Three or four times I thought 
my temples would burst with the gush of blood. * * * When I 
came out I was almost afraid to come near to him. It seemed to me 
as if he was like the mount that might not be touched and that burned 
with fire. I was beside myself and am so still.” 1 

6. The Intellectual Type. — The intellectual type of prose 
is the normal expression of the reasoning faculty, relatively 
unmixed with imagination or feeling. Prose is usually of this 
character, expressing intellectual activity in forms of pure in- 
telligence. Such prose has prevailing objective character ap- 
pearing in literal language and in logical quality and processes. 
In such prose, however, although there is little color of imag- 
ination or heat of passion, there is a quality of workmanship 
that is distinctive of the workman. Truth, the worthy object 
of the mind’s concern, possesses a native dignity which shines 
forth through clear prose with a grace that gains distinctive- 
ness from the diction itself. Clearness is the fundamental 
quality of the intellectual type of prose. The meaning shines 
through it so clearly that it cannot be misunderstood. The 
distinctive effects of style in intellectual prose appear in the 
structure and the movement, in the diction and the rhythm. 
Amid the changing thought these effects are constant. The 
personal effects of intellectual prose are like light without 
color and fire without heat; they have elemental psychic im- 
pressiveness. 


Henry Cabot Lodge, “Daniel Webster,” p. 118. 


34 


The intellectual type of prose subtly implies that truth needs 
no advocate. Such prose has a well-bred effect: this self- 
repression is the tribute of good manners to reason; this cour- 
tesy trusts the sufficient persuasiveness of truth; this self- 
respect is a personal homage to truth. Such prose is the ex- 
pression of self-control and culture. 

7. The Impassioned Type. — Impassioned prose is a type 
of expression in which the Self realizes the personal import of 
the thought so vividly that the emotions control and char- 
acterize the form of expression. The impassioned type de- 
velops when the deepening of personal interest in discourse 
•engages the emotions to such extent that emotional quality 
suffuses the thought and gives characteristic form to the dic- 
tion. Personal interest becomes a new and transforming in- 
fluence, changing the intellective expression of mental activity 
into characteristic emotional forms. Feeling becomes identi- 
fied with the discourse and this is followed by the appearance 
of new forms of personal phenomena in thought and diction. 
The colloquial and oratorical standards give us the conditions 
in immediate personal relations, most naturally, producing im- 
passioned language. Colloquial traits are impressionism, itera- 
tion, abruptness, hyperbole ; oratorical traits are dignified 
formalism and soul- stirring eloquence. The thought is such as 
intimately engages human interest, — love and hate, honor and 
dishonor, justice and injustice. The form of this type of prose 
sensitively follows the human interest. 

Under accordant influences all the elements of impassioned 
prose thrill with deep harmonies ; the rhythm surges into con- 
sciousness, and metre is dimly perceived, and here and there 
are clear notes of alliteration and the hidden melody of asso- 
nance. This is the unconscious elemental music of deep feel- 
ing. Impassioned prose is so swept with transcendent influ- 
ence that it is akin to poetry. The following paragraph is an 
example of impassioned prose: 

“It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of 
France, then the Dauphiness, at Versailles; and surely never lighted on 
this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I 
saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated 
sphere she just began to move in; glittering like the morning star, full 
of life, and splendor, and joy. Oh, what a revolution! and what a 
keart must I have, to contemplate without emotion that elevation and 
that fall! Little did I dream, when she added titles of veneration to 
those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, that she would ever be 
obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in that 
Ibosom ; little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters 
fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of hon- 
our, and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped 


35 


from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with 
insult. But the age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, eco- 
nomists, and calculators has succeeded; and the glory of Europe is 
extinguished forever. Never, never more, shall we behold that gen- 
erous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submission, that dignified 
obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in 
servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom. The unbought grace 
of life, the cheap defense of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and 
heroic enterprise, is gone ! It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that 
chastity of honoui, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired 
courage whilst it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever it touched, 
and under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all its gross- 
ness.” 8 

8. The Imaginative Type. — Imaginative prose is a type of 
expression in which the Self through all abstraction appre- 
hends truth so strongly that transcendent affinity of matter 
and spirit stirs the imagination to control and characterize the 
form of expression. Truth so apprehended is a form of 
energy, a mode of motion appealing to the senses through fine 
analogies, investing such truth with sensuous forms. Imagi- 
native prose is full of figurative quality appealing to the five 
senses. Sensuousness is so associated with all experiences that 
it is practically inseparable from all words that present a defi- 
nite conception to the mind. Nouns, verbs, adjectives, ad- 
verbs, are suggestions through memory and old associations, 
of color, sound, fragrance and all sensuous influences. Such 
words stir into activity the image-making power of the mind, 
and there rise into consciousness images that come from the 
past of our own experiences. As dreams may be traced 
through curious analysis to experience, so it is with the mental 
images resulting from the appeal of imaginative prose. The 
power and distinctive quality of the imaginative type are to be 
found in the appeal to individual experience. Such prose is 
interpreted to each one in the language of his own heart and 
life. 

Suggestion through subtile laws of association sets in train 
kindred influences. You speak of a color and I .see the coast 
lights of home ; you speak of an odor and I am breathing again 
the sea air; you speak of a sound and I hear the breaking 
surf along the shore. You have left me dreaming of the 
,past. This is the peculiar province of poetry, and the prose 
that is lighted with imagination is called poetic prose. Milton, 
Jeremy Taylor, De Quincey, Ruskin, have written such prose. 
It requires a spiritual nature, extreme sensitiveness, an active 
imagination, unfailing good taste, and a mastery of all the 
resources of expression. The imaginative quality in all liter- 


8 Edmund Burke (1729-1797), “Reflections on the Revolution in 
France,” 1790. 


36 

ary prose is one of the mainsprings of power. Suggestion 
through imagination writes between the lines and gives to the 
lines the power of things unsaid. 

The imaginative power of the following comes from the 
sense of smell: 

“Ah, me! what strains and strophes of unwritten verse pulsate 
through my soul when I open a certain closet in the ancient house 
where I was born ! On its shelves used to lie bundles of sweet mar- 
joram and pennyroyal and lavender and mint and catnip; there apples 
were stored until their seeds should grow black, which happy period 
there were sharp little milk-teeth always ready to anticipate; there 
peaches lay in the dark, thinking of the sunshine they had lost, until, 
like the hearts of saints who dream of heaven in their sorrow, they 
grew fragrant as the breath of angels. The odorous echo of a score of 
dead summers lingers yet in those dim recesses.” 0 

The imaginative power of the following comes from the eye : 

“Suddenly we became aware of a vast necropolis rising upon the far- 
off horizon — a city of sepulchres, built within the saintly cathedral for 
the warrior dead that rested from their feuds on earth. Of purple 
granite was the necropolis; yet, in the first minute, it lay like a purple 
stain upon the horizon, so mighty was the distance. In the second 
minute it trembled through many changes, growing into terraces and 
towers of wondrous altitude, so mighty was the pace. In the third 
minute already, with our dreadful gallop, we were entering its suburbs. 
Vast sarcophagi rose on every side, having towers and turrets that, 
upon the limits of the central aisle, strode forward with haughty in- 
trusion, that ran back with night shadows into answering recesses. 
Every sarcophagus showed many bas-reliefs — bas-reliefs of battles and 
of battlefields; battles from forgotten ages — battles from yesterday — 
battlefields that, long since, nature had healed and reconciled to herself 
with the sweet oblivion of flowers — battlefields that were yet angry and 
crimson with carnage.” 8 * 10 

Then when the eye wavers in the reddening dawn, and the 
crimson robes and the bloody bas-reliefs, there is a new move- 
ment in the fugue, and the imagination addresses the ear: 

“Then was completed the passion of the mighty fugue. The golden 
tubes of the organ, which as yet had but muttered at intervals — gleam- 
ing amongst clouds and surges of incense — threw up, as from fountains 
unfathomable, columns of heart-shattering music.” 10 

With charming ease and naturalness Stevenson appeals to 
the senses in the following: 

“I saw that island first when it was neither night nor morning. The 
moon was to the west, setting, but still broad and bright. To the east, 
and right amidships of the dawn, which was all pink, the day star 
sparkled like a diamond. The land breeze blew in our faces, and smelt 


8 Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894), “The Autocrat of the Break- 

fast Table,” 1858. 

10 Thomas DeQuincey (1785-1859), “The English Mail-Coach.” 


37 


strong of wild lime and vanilla: other things besides, but these were 
the most plain ; and the chill of it set me sneezing. I should say I had 
been for years on a low island near the line, living for the most part 
solitary among natives. Here was a fresh experience : even the tongue 
would be quite strange to me; and the look of these woods and moun- 
tains, and the rare smell of them, renewed my blood.” 

“The captain blew out the binnacle lamp.” 11 

9. Freedom under Law. — Prose is the greatest thing man 
has made. It is like the sea — the creature of the currents of 
the world. You may name the dominant moods of the sea, 
but the sea is never the same. The clouds and the sun, the 
winds and the calm are fellows with the tides and the coast 
to give the ocean freedom under law. And prose has freedom 
under law. 

The types of prose are not often clearly distinct. The intel- 
lectual, the impassioned, and the imaginative sensitively merge 
and change. The intellectual changes, stirring with personal 
forces that modify the type ; the impassioned changes, glowing 
and fading; the imaginative changes, drifting in and out of 
consciousness like a dream. Prose composition is infinitely 
various and changeful. 

In prose everything contributes to the end. This is the law. 
The purpose of the composition directly affects all the pro- 
cesses. 

In the National Gallery at Washington there is a painting, 
“Diana of the Tides/’ 12 the motive of which is the strange 
gravitation force that binds the worlds together and causes 
the sea to follow the moon. The sea and the moon and Diana, 
with her sea-shell chariot and her wave-crest horses, sweeping 
in from the deep — this is the law of the flood-tide over the 
open face of the sea. 

There is a tidal influence in prose that determines the plan 
and the tone of it. 

The plan may be variously formulated according to indi- 
vidual method and judgment, but it must go straight on. The 
plan may admit passages of the intellectual, the impassioned, 
or the imaginative type, but each must forward the sense. The 
dominant mode must be essential prose ; and the prose motive, 
an end towards which the whole composition moves, must be 
like the sweep of the tides. 

The tone of prose is centrally determined by the purpose of 
the composition. Everything has its own proper tone, a char- 
acteristic emanation from itself, like light and heat and sound. 
The character of the thing determines the tone of the compo- 
sition. 


11 “The Beach of Falesa, being the Narrative of a South Sea Trader.” 
n By John Elliott, 1908. 


38 

The tones of prose may be as various as the gamut of 
human emotions, but they must be attuned together into tone- 
unity. There should be no discordant tone, and every element 
should have tone in order to deepen the harmony of the com- 
position. Beware of the tones of figures of speech with their 
manifold suggestiveness ; beware of the tones of words with 
the associations of current use. The voices of composition 
should make harmony like the “innumerous laughter” of the 
sea. 

Above the silence of the material world is projected this 
wonderful thing — the body of prose literature. It is the ex- 
pression of the thinking mind of humanity. It redeems from 
isolation and gives far horizons of thought. The logical con- 
clusions of one generation are the premises of the next. The 
circles of progress advance like the precession of the equinoxes. 


CHAPTER III 


POETRY. 


i. The Genesis of Poetry. — Poetry is the rhetorical expres- 
sion of a union of spirit and matter accomplished through the 
creative faculty of imagination. 

The congeniality of poetry is explainable in the deep analogy 
between poetry and the natural world and the nature of man. 
Each of these strangely binds two worlds together. Man was 
made in the image of God, and the impulses of poetry are the 
creative impulses of his Divine heritage. Man seeks to imi- 
tate in his own mental life what he experiences in his own 
nature and what he observes in the natural world — a creative 
union everywhere of matter and spirit. 

The correlative nature of spirit and matter makes a union 
possible. Spirit is the active element, matter the passive ele- 
ment; matter is the natural elemental medium of spiritual ex- 
pression. Spirit and matter are abstract prose terms naming 
the two kinds of reality as distinct elemental conceptions. The 
correlative aspect of spirit and matter is expressed in the terms 
soul and body. The proper relation of soul and body is beauty* 
and beauty is the substance of poetry. 

The Mosaic account of the creation concludes : ‘‘And God 
saw everything that He had made, and, behold, it was very 
good .” 1 This is the beauty of the works of God, a union of 
spirit and matter in essential harmony. 

It is a thought from the creation, also, that concludes a 
prayer of Moses : 

“Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their- 
children. 

“And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us : and establish- 
thou the work of our hands upon us ; yea, the work of our hands estab- 
lish thou it.” 2 

It is possible for man to work so that the things he makes 
are good, and to think so that the creations of his mind are 
expressive of the Divine harmony. 

King Arthur’s sword Excalibur expresses as in a parable 
the function and the power of poetry. 

1 Genesis 1,31. 

2 Psalms 90, 16-17. 

( 39 ) 


40 


“There likewise I beheld Excalibur 
Before him at his crowning borne, the sword 
That rose from out the bosom of the lake, 

And Arthur row’d across and took it — rich 
With jewels, elfin Urim, on the hilt, 

Bewildering heart and eye — the blade so bright 
That men are blinded by it — on one side, 

Graven in the oldest tongue of all this world, 

‘Take me/ but turn the blade and ye shall see, 

And written in the speech ye speak yourself, 

‘Cast me away!’” 3 

The oldest tongue of all this world was the language of man 
while yet the soul was pure and uncontaminated by evil. It 
was the language of Eden when God talked with Adam in the 
Garden in the cool of the day. 

The speech ye speak yourself is the common speech of man 
in the vitiated spiritual atmospheres of the world. The war 
of Sense and Soul is a present thing. We experience it in the 
confusion of motives involving appetites, desires, and affec- 
tions that perplex the reason with a mixture of the sordid and 
the spiritual, the selfish and the unselfish, the sensual and the 
sensuous. 

The sword Excalibur is for him alone who speaks the oldest 
tongue of all this world. Only a sword “bathed in heaven” 
will be effective against the present evil of the world. 

No man should write poetry unless his heart is pure so that 
he can see God, and so that he can experience the beauty of the 
works of God. Sunlight and moonlight and starlight are not 
the substance of poetry. Spiritual forces of truth are the sub- 
stance of poetry, and these forces find expression through the 
forms of nature creating in all accordant spiritual beings ex- 
periences of beauty. 

2. Beauty. — Beauty is the genial relation of spirit and mat- 
ter. It is the substance of poetry. 

Beauty is seen in nature as a genial relation of spirit and 
matter ; it is seen in man as a gracious influence of personality 
arising through the relation of soul and body ; it is experienced 
in consciousness as passionate emotion arising through the 
congeniality of the Self and truth. 

The Self in relation with truth finds some truth congenial, 
and this congenial relationship is an experience of beauty. 
There is profound human interest in beauty, for it is expressive 
of the transcendent realities of existence. Spiritual influence 
emanates from sensuous things. The chords of the world 
thrill with spiritual music ; some of these chords are attuned 
to our own hearts, and we experience awakening echoes of 
music. 


“Tennyson, “The Coming of Arthur” in “Idylls of the King.” 


4i 


The poet does not create beauty; he feels it. He does not 
make the relation of truth and the Self beautiful; he experi- 
ences it. He is born with a sensitive soul and an eye for 
beauty, and he seeks to master the art of expression that he 
may tell truly what he feels and sees. 

“For poetry was all written before time was, and whenever we are so 
finely organized that we can penetrate into that region where the air is 
music, we hear those primal warblings, and attempt to write them down, 
but we lose ever and anon a word, or a verse, and substitute something 
of our own, and thus miswrite the poem.” 4 

Beauty and truth should be compared and distinguished. 
Truth is the elemental reality of spirit and of matter conceived 
in the processes of reason, and the genial relation also of 
spirit and matter perceived in the senses and apprehended by 
the imagination. Truth is thus elemental and compound. 
Beauty is the compound form of truth arising in relationships, 
in the union of spirit and matter. Beauty comes into con- 
sciousness as emotion and the imagination gives to this airy 
nothing a sensuous form — “a local habitation and a name.” 
The activities of the brain, through processes of reason, find 
expression in prose addressing the understanding with concep- 
tions of truth. The experiences of the heart, through the 
creations of imagination, find expression in poetry stirring the 
soul with forms of beauty. Truth may be understood by the 
reason without becoming our own possession, but beauty is 
known to us only as we feel it. The beauty that we experi- 
ence arises from the soul's affinity for truth; i: is a personal 
possession. You may study the truth without being true, but 
beauty is born of truth and the heart. It was so in creation, 
and it is so in the apprehension of creation. The poet is one 
that “speaketh the truth in his heart." 5 He cannot see beauty 
without being beautiful. Truth and the Self have a common 
origin in creation. The primal and ideal 1 armony between 
truth and the Self would make all truth beautiful; so in the 
movement of the whole creation toward perfection the vision 
of beauty is a widening arc upon the horizon of truth, which 
will ultimately give us the whole circle of truth as an inherit- 
ance of beauty. 

What Keats thought about beauty is gathered into the open- 
ing lines of “Endymion” : 

“A Thing of beauty is a joy for ever: 

Its loveliness increases; it will never 
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep 
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep 


4 Emerson, Essay on “The Poet.” 
6 Psalms 15, 2. 


42 


Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. 
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing 
A flowery band to bind us to the earth, 

Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth 
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, 

Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways 
Made for our searching : yes, in spite of all, 

Some shape of beauty moves away the pall 
From our dark spirits.” 6 

The elements of beauty are truth and the soul ; they are eter- 
nal, and their union through a primal affinity is a joy forever. 

Beauty is experienced as a genial relationship between the 
soul and truth ; therefore it is full of “sweet dreams and health 
and quiet breathing 

Beauty arises in the union of spirit and matter; therefore 
every shape of beauty is a spiritual radiance that moves away 
the pall from our dark spirits, and a dowery band to bind us 
to the earth. 

3. The Poet . — Poeta nascitur non dt is a very old saying 
about the poet. He is born, not made; his gift is the Divine 
heritage of “the image of God” and the Divine faculty of 
imagination. He has not suffered the apprehension of his 
destiny to become dim or the activities of his imagination to 
be diverted from high uses. His gift becomes the guiding 
star of his life ; he is a dedicated spirit ; henceforth he seeks to 
see the spiritual vision, to exercise the Divine faculty, to ex- 
press the vision in words that shall shine like the morning star. 

The deep affinity between matter and spirit makes the poet 
the interpreter between science and philosophy. The poet is a 
true scientist, using matter, as Emerson says, “according to the 
life and not according to the form ;” T he is a true philosopher, 
also, using spirit according to real expressiveness and not ac- 
cording to vain abstractions. 

The correlation of sense and soul is expressed in the term 
sensuous; the misrelation of these two leaves the things of the 
senses * sensual. Sensuousness leads to truth along the five 
highways of the senses. When the things of the senses are 
used as a medium through which spiritual things are seen, the 
quality of sense-impression is sensuous. When the things of 
the senses are used as an end in themselves, so that mo spiritual 
meaning appears in them, the quality of sense-impressions is 
sensual. Only sensuous uses are poetical. 

There is poetry that is splendidly sensual, in which the spir- 
itual lights are wandering fires. The sensual forms embody 
disquiet like the writing on the sword — “ Cast me away!” 

"John Keats (1795-1821), “Endymion,” 1, 1-13. 

7 Essay on “The Poet.” 


43 


There is the poetry of the higher poetic imagination having 

“the gleam, 

The light that never was on sea or land, 

The consecration, and the Poet’s dream.” * 

This is the light in which truth may be seen, the experience of 
which is peace. 

Tennyson followed the spiritual light of the higher poetic 
imagination which he called “The Gleam.” The preface to 
the Memoir of Tennyson states : 

“For those who cared to know about his literary history he wrote 
‘Merlin and the Gleam.’ From his boyhood he had felt the magic of 
Merlin — that spirit of poetry — which bade him know his power and 
follow through his work a pure and high ideal, with a simple and single 
devotedness and a desire to ennoble the life of the world, and which 
helped him through doubts and difficulties to ‘endure as seeing Him 
who is invisible.’ ” 

The poetic faculty is imagination. By introspection we can 
observe the processes of this image-making power and study 
the changeful imagery. 

“We are such stuff 
As dreams are made on.” 8 9 10 

The function of the imagination is to guard and develop the 
moral nature by keeping before the mind images of beauty. 
The activities of the imagination are of supreme importance 
in education, for this power is continuously fulfilling its func- 
tion of influencing personality through such images. It is 
important that we maintain a vital relationship between real 
life and the creations of imagination. Sentiment that does not 
find expression in action degenerates into sentimentality. 
Imaginative experience that does not find expression in real 
activity becomes morbid. 

Character is affected by imagination. Imagining, doing, 
being is the natural succession, “for there is nothing either 
good or bad but thinking makes it so. ,, 10 The personal moral 
import of the things we imagine is so real that self-expression 
naturally involves not only the thing but the relation of the 
Self to the thing. “Art for art’s sake” is a motive that ignores 
this and expresses imaginative activity as an end in itself. We 
may refuse to see that the person imagining is subject to the 
moral effects of his own imagining; we may blind ourselves 
to moral responsibility; but we cannot escape the reckoning. 

8 William Wordsworth (1770-1850), Elegiac Stanzas, suggested by a 
Picture of Peele Castle. 

9 Shakespeare, “The Tempest” 4, 1, 156-157. 

10 “Hamlet” 2, 2, 255-257. 


44 


Imagination is an incentive to action. To imagine good things 
leads to good deeds ; to imagine evil things leads to evil deeds. 
To imagine and not to do is to weaken the will and wither the 
soul. This is the theme of Kipling’s Tomlinson : 

“ ‘O this I have read in a book/ he said, ‘and that 
was told to me, 

And this I have thought that another man thought 
of a Prince in Muscovy.’ ” 

'And this was the answer to Tomlinson : 

“‘Ye have read, ye have heard, ye have thought/ he said, 

‘and the tale is yet to run : 

By the worth of the body that once ye had, give 
answer what ha’ ye done ?’ ” u 

Tennyson’s “Palace of Art” has a similar import with auto- 
biographical interest. It seems to mark a transition in the 
poet’s life from “art for art’s sake” to art for man’s sake. 
The poet leaves his pictures until he can use them for a worthy 
end. 

You will not like poetry until you have a poetic experience. 
To know poetry as you know prose will not interest you in it. 
Prose arises when the reasoning faculty leads to an under- 
standing of truth ; poetry arises when the soul of the individual 
experiences truth as congenial. Fellowship with truth gives 
a poetic experience. Poetry is always attended by the im- 
pressiveness of truth, by the consciousness of personal interest, 
and by a new sense of freedom. Its function and mission are 
gathered into this, “Ye shall know the truth, and the truth 
shall make you free.” 12 

We may say confidently that all of us have some poetic ex- 
perience, that poetry has the power to minister somewhat to 
all of us, and that all of us will sometime experience the beauty 
of our own unwritten poems which it would be well worth 
while to write. 

The elements of poetry are such that every normally gifted 
person must experience the influence of poetry. Wordsworth 
believed that the spirit of poetry is somewhat widely bestowed: 

“Oh ! many are the Poets that are sown 
By Nature; men endowed with highest gifts, 

The vision and the faculty divine; 

Yet wanting the accompaniment of verse, 

Which in the docile season of their youth, 

It was denied them to acquire, through lack 
Of culture and the inspiring aid of books, 

Or haply by a temper too severe, 


11 Kipling, “Collected Verse,” p. 241. 
“ St. John 8, 32. 


45 


Or a nice backwardness afraid of shame, 

Nor having e’er, as life advanced, been led 

By circumstances to take unto the height 

The measure of themselves, these favoured Beings, 

All but a scattered few, live out their time, 

Husbanding that which they possess within, 

And go to the grave unthought of.” 18 

Children normally have the poetic vision, and the poetic 
faculty, and the poetic spirit. First, is the vision: the con- 
sciousness of the child is suffused with spiritual light. Words- 
worth's “Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections 
of Early Childhood” is in accord with universal experience : 

“There was a time when meadow, grove, 
and stream, 

The earth and every common sight, 

To me did seem 
Apparelled in celestial light, 

The glory and the freshness of a dream.” 

Second, is the faculty : children have the faculty of imagina- 
tion to such a degree that your own experience with children 
will give you stories so full of imaginative beauty that your 
eyes will fill with tears, and you yourself will feel the deep 
responses of poetry. Third, is the spirit of poetry: this is the 
wandering heart of youth. The joy of living — the light of the 
poetic vision, the exercise of the poetic faculty, — is the happi- 
ness of childhood. The books that children love are essential 
poetry, full of sensuous beauty — the melody of metre and 
rhyme and the deeper music of rhythm, the descriptions of 
fairy folk and fairy land, the narratives that wander “over the 
hills and far away.” 

If the poet is the exceptional person it is because so many 
of us let the vision fade, and the faculty fail of its high uses, 
and the spirit sink into apathy. We should not think of the 
poetic gifts as things we have not had ; we need not think of 
them as things we cannot have. 

Nature is the teacher of the poet. Wordsworth describes 
how natural influences minister to the development of the 
poet's mind : 

* * * “he, who in his youth 
A daily wanderer among woods and fields 
With living Nature hath been intimate, 

Not only in that raw unpractised time 
Is stirred to ecstasy, as others are, 

By glittering verse; but further, doth receive, 

In measure only dealt out to himself, 

Knowledge and increase of enduring joy 
From the great Nature that exists in works 


18 “The Excursion” i. 


46 


Of mighty Poets. Visionary power 
Attends the motions of the viewless winds, 

Embodied in the mystery of words : 

There, darkness makes abode, and all the host 
Of shadowy things works endless changes, — there, 

As in a mansion like their proper home, 

Even forms and substances are circumfused 
By that transparent veil with light divine, 

And, through the turnings intricate of verse. 

Present themselves as objects recognized, 

In flashes, and with glory not their own.” 14 

Heart life conditions poetic appreciation: hardness of heart 
destroys it ; tenderness of heart refines and cultivates it. This 
may be studied in two descriptions by Wordsworth. The first 
is “Peter Bell,” hard and unimaginative, with no sensitiveness 
to poetry : 

“He roved among the vales and streams. 

In the green wood and hollow dell; 

They were his dwellings night and day — 

But nature ne’er could find the way 
Into the heart of Peter Bell. 

In vain, through every changeful year, 

Did Nature lead him as before; 

A primrose by a river’s brim 
A yellow primrose was to him, 

And it was nothing more. 

* * * * * * * 

There was a hardness in his cheek, 

There was a hardness in his eye, 

As if the man had fixed his face. 

In many a solitary place, 

Against the wind and open sky !” 15 

The second is the poet Wordsworth himself : 

“Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 

Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears, 

To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.” 18 

Appreciation of poetry may be cultivated, first, by under- 
standing the function of matter to embody and suggest spirit- 
ual forces ; second, by understanding the distinction between 
idealization, which is a process of abstraction leading to prose, 
and imagination, which is a process of creation causing a union 
of matter and spirit and leading to poetry ; third, by cultivating 
a love of nature which supplies all the forms of poetry; fourth, 
by cultivating the life of the heart, whence come love and joy. 

14 “The Prelude” 5, 586-605. 

15 “Peter Bell.” 

18 “Intimations of Immortality.” 


47 

The following verses from Tennyson illustrate all the ele- 
ments of appreciation : 

“Flower in the crannied wall, 

I pluck you out of the crannies, 

I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, 

Little flower — but if I could understand 
What you are, root and all, and all in all, 

I should know what God and man is.” 

4. The Language of Poetry. — The language of poetry is 
imaginative language. Shakespeare says that the poet is “of 
imagination all compact/’ 17 Tennyson describes the poetic 
word: 

“The word of the Poet by whom the deeps of the world are stirr’d, 

The music that robes it in language beneath and beyond the word.” 1 * 

Ruskin says : 

“The object in all art is not to inform but to suggest, not to add to 
the knowledge but to kindle the imagination. He is the best poet who 
can by the fewest words touch the greatest number of secret chords of 
thought in the reader’s own mind to set them to work in their own 
way.” 19 

The following description is poetry: 

“So all day long the noise of battle roll’d 
Among the mountains by the winter sea ; 

Until King Arthur’s Table, man by man, 

Had fall’n in Lyonnesse about their lord, 

King Arthur.” 20 

It is full of sensuousness : the ears hear the noise of it, the 
eyes see the battle, the nostrils breathe the sea air, we shiver 
in the mountain cold. It is at once a picture and a story. It 
is addressed to the imagination, and the words are a sensuous 
medium expressing the meaning without dragging the mean- 
ing down. 

It is full of suggestion. The words are so simple that they 
are elemental and capable of great uses. Common words, 
idiomatic phrases, natural structure give the lines the strength 
of the great central currents of the world. There is also a 
strange beauty of picturesqueness in the few proper names — 
King Arthur , King Arthur's Table, and Lyonnesse . And all 

17 “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” 5, r, 8. 

18 Tennyson, “The Wreck.” 

19 John Ruskin, Letter Feb. 12, 1841, in “Letters addressed to a College 
Friend during the years 1840-45.” 

20 Tennyson, “The Passing of Arthur” in “Idylls of the King.” 


48 

day long, and the noise of battle, and the cycle that ends by the 
winter sea are little allegories that echo the world-old conflict 
of Sense at war with Soul. 

The influence of beauty on words refines and dignifies and 
transfigures them. Edmund Spenser, whom Charles Lamb 
called “the poets’ poet,” described such influence: 

“So every spirit, as it is most pure, 

And hath in it the more of heavenly light, 

So it the fairer bodie doth procure 
To habit in, and it more fairely dight 
With chearefull grace and amiable sight; 

For of the soule the bodie forme doth take; 

For soule is forme, and doth the bodie make .” 21 


The poetic process has the following phases : first, a spiritual 
force apprehended in consciousness as emotion; second, the 
spiritual force invested with a sensible form by the imagina- 
tion, appearing in consciousness as an imaginative-image ; 
third, the appearance in consciousness of other forms called 
up from experience by this imaginative-image through the 
power of suggestion; fourth, association in consciousness of 
the imaginative-image and the experience-image with mutual 
interpretative effect; fifth, an experience of a new spiritual 
force diffusing emotional influence and personal effect after its 
kind. 

The following allegory explains the process and the lan- 
guage of poetry : 

“The mind of man is peopled, like some silent city, with a sleeping 
company of reminiscences, associations, impressions, attitudes, emo- 
tions, to be awakened into fierce activity at the touch of words. By 
one way or another, with a fanfaronade of the marching trumpets, or 
stealthily, by noiseless passages and dark posterns, the troop of sug- 
gested enters the citadel, to do its work within. The procession of 
beautiful sounds that is a poem passes in through the main gate, and 
forthwith the by-ways resound to the hurry of ghostly feet, until the 
small company of adventurers is well nigh lost and overwhelmed in that 
throng of insurgent spirits .” 22 

5. Figures of Speech. — A figure of speech is a poetic form 
illustrating a subject by an image. There are two essential 
factors — the subject and the image; each factor must be pres- 
ent in mind, and each factor must be a unit of imaginative 
power 'expressing a spiritual force sensuously. 

The two factors may be correlated by the reasoning faculty, 
with the subject and the image both expressed, or they may 
be united by the imagination producing new compound forms 

21 “An Hymne in Honour of Beautie ” 

“Walter Raleigh, “Style.” 


49 


that emphasize either the subject or the image. Hence there 
are three classes of figures, — the Correlative Figures, the 
Subject-Figures, and the Image-Figures. 

The Correlative Figures. In the Correlative Figures the 
two factors are correlated by the reasoning faculty in accord- 
ance with some principle of association. The subject and the 
image are both expressed and are brought into such relation 
that the imaginative power of each is responsive to the other, 
establishing a circuit of poetic influence. The atmosphere of 
the Correlative Figures is relatively intellectual. The figures 
are Comparison and Simile . 

The Subject-Figures. In the Subject-Figures the two fac- 
tors are united by the imagination producing a new compound 
expressed in terms of the subject. The atmosphere of these 
figures is relatively impassioned. The figures are Metaphor, 
Personification , and an Emotional type expressed through dis- 
tinctive forms of composition. In figures of the Emotional 
type the image is an emotional effect, and the new figure stated 
in terms of the subject is moulded by the emotion into such a 
\ rhetorical form as will properly express it. The form is thus 
an emotional interpretation of the subject. The figures in- 
clude Exclamation, Hyperbole, Iteration, Vision, Apostrophe, 
showing the influence of the Self; Interrogation and Irony, 
showing the influence of the Other Self ; and Antithesis and 
Climax, showing the influence of the Thought. 

The Image-Figures. In the Image-Figures the two factors 
are united by the imagination producing a new compound ex- 
pressed in terms of the image. The atmosphere of these fig- 
ures is relatively imaginative. The figures are Allegory, 
Metonymy, Synecdoche, Epithet. 

Summary. A figure of speech is a poetic form illustrating 
a subject by an image. There are three constituent classes of 
figures — the Correlative Figures, the Subject-Figures, and the 
Image-Figures. The first class is a logical composition of the 
two poetic factors ; the second class is an imaginative union of 
the two poetic factors expressed in terms of the subject; the 
third class is an imaginative union of the two poetic factors 
expressed in terms of the image. All of these classes are 
fundamentally poetic, since the essential force in subject and 
image is the creative power of imagination. Every subject is 
a unit of imaginative activity, expressing a spiritual force sen- 
suously; and every image is likewise a unit of imaginative 
activity, expressing spiritual force sensuously. Imaginative 
force resident in the factors causes the formation of all figures 
of speech. 


50 


6. The Correlative Figures.— The Correlative Figures are 
formulated by the reasoning faculty correlating the imagina- 
tive factors in accordance with some principle of association. 

In this class of figures where the subject and the image are 
separately stated, the relation between them may be either 
expressed or implied. It is not necessary that “like” or any 
other word be used to state the relation between the two parts 
of the figure, if only the relation is clear. 

This type is based on analogy, and it involves two figures, 
Comparison and Simile. The felicity of Comparison lies in 
pervasive analogy, with many points of likeness between the 
subject and the image. The felicity of Simile lies in unique 
analogy in the midst of differences. 

The distinction between Comparison and Simile may be 
illustrated as follows: In the figure Comparison, the subject 
may be expressed by a b c and the image by bed, in which case 
the composition of the figure would be shown by the com- 
mon factors forming an equation b c = b c. In the figure 
Simile the subject may be expressed by a b c and the image 
by c d e, in which case the composition of the figure would 
be shown by the common factor forming an equation 
c = c. The figure Comparison having the major part common 
to both gives an effect of pervasive analogy. The figure 
Simile having only one part common to both gives an effect 
of unique analogy. 

Comparison. In the figure Comparison the subject and the 
image have the major part of the elements common to both. 
The subject and the image are more alike than unlike; so we 
compare one form of beauty with another form of beauty, one 
experience of greatness with another experience of greatness. 

Comparison brings into relation with the subject an image 
involving more likenesses than differences. We compare 
things strikingly alike, and the effectiveness of comparison is 
in direct ratio to the number of likenesses between the factors. 

Good examples of comparison showing the appeal to the 
imagination in extreme sensuousness that makes them figures 
of speech, and showing, also, several points of likeness with 
an effect of pervasive analogy making the figures comparison, 
are the following: 

“And as the light of Heaven varies, now 
At sunrise, now at sunset, now by night 
With moon and trembling stars, so loved Geraint 
To make her beauty vary day by day, 

In crimsons and in purples and in gems.” 28 

“Tennyson, “The Marriage of Geraint” in “Idylls of the King” 


5i 


“As the marsh-hen secretly builds on the watery sod, 

Behold I will build me a nest on the greatness of God : 

I will fly in the greatness of God as the marsh-hen flies 

In the freedom that fills all the space ’twixt the marsh and the skies : 

By so many roots as the marsh-grass sends in the sod 

I will heartily lay me ahold on the greatness of God : 

O, like to the greatness of God is the greatness within 

The range of the marshes, the liberal marshes of Glynn” 24 

Simile. In the figure Simile the subject and the image have 
only one point of similarity, and this unique likeness in the 
midst of differences has dramatic effect. 

Simile brings into relation with the subject an image in- 
volving more differences than likenesses. A unique point of 
likeness between unlike things is notable, and the effectiveness 
of simile is in inverse ratio to the points of analogy between 
the subject and the image. 

Examples of simile showing one point of analogy amid gen- 
eral unlikeness are the following : 

“Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale.” 28 

“Deep in the shady sadness of a vale 
Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, 

Far from the fiery noon, and eve’s one star, 

Sat gray-hair’d Saturn, quiet as a stone, 

Still as the silence round about his lair.” 28 

“Because the hope of the ungodly man is as chaff carried by the wind, 

And as foam vanishing before a tempest; 

And is scattered as smoke is scattered by the wind, 

And passeth by as the remembrance of a guest that tarrieth but a 
day.” 27 

7. The Subject-Figures. — The Subject-Figures are created 
by the imagination uniting subject and image in a new com- 
pound which is expressed in terms of the subject. The subject- 
figure is not like either of the elemental factors, but is a new 
and vivid conception of the subject suffused or quickened or 
characterized by the image. The figures are Metaphor, Per- 
sonification, and a somewhat large number of Emotional Fig- 
ures. Subject-figures are relatively emotional and impas- 
sioned; they originate in emotional interest. A critical mood 
expresses itself in comparison; a small emotional influence 
makes natural the more striking association of simile. Domi- 
nant emotion stirs the imagination into activity, developing 
affinity in the factors and creating a subject-figure. 

24 Sidney Lanier (1842-1881), “The Marshes of Glynn.” 

28 “King John” 3, 4 , 108. 

26 Keats, “Hyperion” 1. 

27 The Apocrypha, “The Wisdom of Solomon,” 5, 14. 


52 

Metaphor. A metaphor is a subject-figure in which the 
subject is transformed by the attributes or properties of the 
image. 

Queen Margaret characterized the sons of the Duke of York 
in metaphors as follows : 

“And what is Edward but a ruthless sea? 

What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit? 

And Richard but a ragged, fatal rock?” 28 

In the first metaphor the subject is Edward and the image 
is sea; in the second the subject is Clarence and the image is 
quicksand; in the third the subject is Richard and the image is 
rock . t 

The melancholy Jaques in an extended metaphor described 
the world under the image of the stage : 

“All the world’s a stage 
And all the men and women merely players; 

They have their exits and their entrances ; 

And one man in his time plays many parts, 

His acts being seven ages.” 29 

In the metaphor the image bears an adjective relation to the 
subject, and the figure is in the nature of a little description. 

Three things should be observed in the use of metaphors: 
First, to use them moderately, remembering that they are aids 
to expression and not to be used for their own sake ; second, 
to avoid “mixed metaphor,” which is a confusion of effect 
through unskillful massing of figures ; third, to test the felicity 
of all metaphors by noting the subject and the image and ob- 
serving whether the associating of these two is congenial and 
in good taste. 

Personification. Personification develops from metaphor 
under increasing emotional stress. The subject vividly appre- 
hended is conceived as a living creature and spoken of as a 
person. The following figures are examples of personifica- 
tion : 

“See how the morning opes her golden gates, 

And takes her farewell of the glorious sun ! 80 

“Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day 
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.” 81 

“And though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play upon the 
earth, so Truth be in the field, we do injuriously by licensing and pro- 
hibiting to misdoubt her strength. Let her and Falsehood grapple ; who 
ever knew Truth put to the worse in a free and open encounter?” 82 


28 3 King Henry VI, 5, 4, 25-28. 

29 “As You Like It” 2, 7, 139-166. 

80 “3 Henry VI,” 2, 1, 21-22. 

81 “Romeo and Juliet” 3, 5, 9-10. 
“Milton (1608-1674), “Areopagitica.” 


53 


In the personification the image bears a predicate relation to 
the subject; the distinctive word is the verb and the figure is 
in the nature of a little narrative. 

Combined Figures. In literature metaphor and personifica- 
tion are frequently combined : the descriptive figure easily and 
naturally develops a touch of narrative interest. Metaphor 
and personification are combined in this way in the following : 

“Short swallow flights of song, that dip 
Their wings in tears and skim away.” 88 

“We have fed our sea for a thousand years.” 81 

Emotional Figures. An emotional figure is a subject-figure 
in which the form of the composition is itself the image. Dif- 
ferent emotional states variously interpret the subject through 
a mould of form. These figures may be conveniently classified 
in three groups dominated by the Self , the Other-Self , and the 
Thought respectively. 

The influence of the Self controls one group, including Ex- 
clamation, Hyperbole, Iteration, Vision, Apostrophe ; these are 
the spontaneous, natural expression of the Self controlled by 
emotional influences. The influence of the Other-Self controls 
a second group, including Interrogation and Irony. The in- 
fluence of the Thought controls a third group, including An- 
tithesis and Climax. 

Emotional Figures of the Self. 

Exclamation. Exclamation is an inversion of the normal 
order of subject and predicate, so that the predication stands 
first, and the first word is the emotional key to the whole ex- 
pression. The Beatitudes begin with “Blessed.” When emo- 
tion compels expression, it is natural that the first word express 
that emotion. This principle is important, and it should be 
verified by studies in literature. 

Hyperbole. Hyperbole is emotional exaggeration. It is the 
natural expression of an emotional state, in which alone it 
should be conceived and interpreted. Hyperbole is not decep- 
tion and not insincerity. Rhetorical expression requires a sym- 
pathetic relation of the Self and the Other-Self. Emotional 
influences, therefore, rise and fall together, and the automatic 
adjustment of the meaning, on the reassertion of the normal 
critical mood, results not in exaggeration, but in the expres- 
sion of the exact truth. Hyperbole is, moreover, the only way 
in which the emotional mood can express itself truly. 

88 Tennyson, “In Memoriam,” 48 : 4. 

81 Kipling, “The Song of the Dead.” 


54 

In the tragedy of “Julius Csesar,” Cassius, speaking with 
emotion, says to Brutus, — 

“Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
Like a Colossus, and we petty men 
Walk under his huge legs and peep about 
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.” " 

Iteration . Iteration is repetition under emotional stress. 
Intense feeling makes every pulse-beat the accent of it. Joy 
or grief finds natural expression in the repetition of some word 
or phrase that voices it. The effect is not monotony, but em- 
phasis. Milton writes, 

“O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, 

Irrevocably dark, total Eclipse 
Without all hope of day!” 36 

Vision. Vision is an emotional form of expression in which 
an absent object is so vividly imagined, that it is described as 
though actually seen. Hamlet exclaims, in the play, 

“My father! — methinks I see my father. 

“ Horatio . O where, my lord? 

“Hamlet. In my mind’s eye, Horatio.” ,T 

Apostrophe. Apostrophe is an emotional form in which a 
person, present only to the imagination, is addressed as though 
actually present. The image of personality in the mind may 
be either a real person or personification. In the “Ode on the 
Death of the Duke of Wellington,” Tennyson apostrophizes 
Nelson: 

“Mighty Seaman, this is he 
Was great by land as thou by sea.” 

In Sidney Lanier’s “Sunrise,” one of the Hymns of the 
Marshes, is this apostrophe : 

“Reverend Marsh, low-couched along the sea, 

Old chemist, rapt in alchemy, 

Distilling silence.” 

Emotional Figures of the Other-Self. 

Interrogation. Interrogation is a question that is an assured 
appeal to the Other-Self — “You answer it!” Emotion makes 


"“Julius Caesar” i, 2, 135-138. 
86 “Samson Agonistes” 82. 

* T “Hamlet” I, 2,84-86. 


55 


the question natural, and confidence makes the inquiry equiva- 
lent to an emphatic assertion. The following is Interrogation : 

“How would you be, 

If He, which is the top of judgment, should 
But judge you as you are?” “ 

Irony . Irony is an emotional form expressing a meaning 
contrary to the words. The Other-Self is the occasion of it, 
and the motive is usually satire. Elijah’s mockery of the 
priests of Baal is irony : 

“And it came to pass at noon, that Elijah mocked them, and said, ‘Cry 
aloud ; for he is a god : either he is musing, or he is gone aside, or he is 
on a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth and must be awaked/” 89 

Emotional Figures of the Thought . 

Antithesis. Antithesis is a form of expression emphasizing 
contrast in thought by contrast in words. Essential contrast 
in the thought crystallizes, of its own nature, into phrase or 
sentence, having opposing angles of reflection. Such a phrase 
is the following: 

“By thunders of white silence.” 40 

Mrs. Browning interprets this antithesis in the lines, — 

“Appeal fair stone 

From God’s pure heights of beauty against man’s wrong” 

The balanced sentence is a natural form of antithesis; this 
is not necessarily the grammatical balance of a compound sen- 
tence, but the rhetorical balance of opposed words or phrases 
set over against each other. Such sentences are the following : 

“To be prepared for war is one of the most effectual means of pre- 
serving peace.” 41 

“Millions for defence, but not one cent for tribute.” 42 

Climax. Climax is a form of expression emphasizing pro- 
gressive intensity in thought, by a parallel form of words. 
The following is a well known example of climax from the 
Scripture : 


88 “Measure for Measure” 2, 2, 75-77. 

89 1 Kings 18, 27. 

40 Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1809-1861), “Hiram Powers’ Greek 
Slave.” 

41 George Washington (1732-1799) to Congress, Jan. 8, 1790. 

42 Charles Cotesworth Pinckney (1746-1825), Envoy to France on “the 
X Y Z Mission,” in 1796. 


5 ^ 


“We glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh 
patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope; and hope 
maketh not ashamed.” 44 

Anti-Climax is a specific form of Climax presenting the ele- 
ments in inverse order with an appearance of extraordinary 
antithesis at the end. The effect is dramatic and usually 
humorous. 

It is important in studying the preceding forms to see that 
the motive is in the Thought, or the Other-Self, or the Self ; 
and that the expression is not artificial, but natural and im- 
pulsive. 

8. The Image-Figures. — In the Image-Figures the two fac- 
tors are united by the imagination and the new imaginative 
form is expressed in terms of the image. The atmosphere of 
this class of figures is relatively imaginative. The figures are 
Allegory, Metonymy, Synecdoche, and Epithet. 

Allegory. In Allegory the image is named, while the sub- 
ject is unnamed but present in thought. This leaves the 
emphasis of statement all on the image. Allegory is best illus- 
trated by Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress.” In this the subject 
is the growth of spiritual life, the image is the story of a pil- 
grimage. To the child it is just a story, and for him it is not 
a figure at all. More mature persons find that experience is an 
interpreter of the spiritual meaning which is the subject. 

The Parable is a familiar form of allegory used by Our Lord 
in teaching the multitude. 44 The problem of teaching many at 
once, where all teaching must needs be individual and personal, 
evolved the Parable. It is a story with the lesson in the 
shadow: all hear the story, but not all see the shadow. If it 
is a spiritual lesson, those who are spiritually sensitive will see 
it. Those who are so lacking in spiritual sensitiveness that 
they would not listen to the truth at all, hear the story and go 
their way not conscious that through the obscurity of the 
Parable they have been kept from rejecting the truth. The 
Parable is a means of teaching that acts automatically, in sen- 
sitive relation with the Other-Self, teaching those who are 
teachable and working no harm to the rest. 

# Metonymy and Synecdoche. Metonymy is based on rela- 
tion, while Synecdoche is based on identity. Metonymy may 
be represented graphically by two circles side by side, the asso- 
ciation of the two causing one invariably to suggest the other. 
Synecdoche may be represented by two circles, one within the 
other. The figure is either the part for the whole or the whole 

“ Romans 5, 3-4. 

44 Study the Parable of the Sower, St. Mark 4, 1-20. 


57 


for the part; it is in either case based on identity of essence. 
Metonymy, on the contrary, is based on relations. 

The following passages illustrate Metonymy: 

* * * “then would they sigh, 

And think of yellow leaves, of owlet’s cry, 

Of logs piled solemnly.”" 

Here are three instances of Metonymy; in each case the 
image is named, while the subject remains unnamed. The 
subject of yellow leaves is the end of the year, of owlet’s cry 
is the end of the day, of logs piled solemnly is the end of life. 

“And this our life exempt from public haunt, 

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 

Sermons in stones, and good in everything.” 46 

In these lines the images are tongues , books, and sermons; 
the subject of tongues is the sound of the wind in the trees; 
the subject of books is the murmur of the brooks; the subject 
of sermons is the unmovedness of stones. 

The following illustrates Synecdoche: “From the hill he 
could see fifty sail on the Sound.” In the figure the subject 
is vessels, the image is “fifty sail.” What the eye actually saw 
was sails, and not ships. We wish to say to the Other-Self 
that there were ships on the Sound, and we present it vividly 
to the imagination just as we saw it — “fifty sail.” “All hands 
to the pumps” is a vision of the men at work, with hands rising 
and falling. Synecdoche names the image through which the 
subject finds sensuous expression. 

One use of Synecdoche is the naming of an individual to ex- 
press the class of which the individual is a type : 

“Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood, 

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 

Some Cromwell guiltless of his country’s blood.” 47 

In a similar way a geographical proper name may be used to 
designate a wide region of which it is typical. This is synec- 
doche — the most characteristic part for the whole. In the fol- 
lowing passage a few particular names bring before us the 
strange magnificence of the Old East : 

“His eye might there command wherever stood 
City of old or modern fame, the seat 

"Keats, “Endymion” I. 

"“As You Like It” 2, i, 15-17. 

47 Thomas Gray (1716-1771), “Elegy Written in a Country Church- 
yard.” 


ss 

Of mightiest empire, from the destined walls 
Of Cambalu, seat of Cathaian Can, 

And Samarchand by Oxus, Temir’s throne, 

To Paquin, of Sinaean kings, and thence 
To Agra and Lahor of Great Mogul, 

Down to the golden Chersonese, or where 
The Persian in Ecbatan sat, or since 
In Hispahan, or where the Russian Ksar 
In Mosco, or the Sultan in Bizance, 

Turchestan-born ” 48 

Epithet. An adjective addressed to the imagination instead 
of the reason is an epithet. Studies of poetry and imaginative 
prose show that epithets are very important factors in expres- 
sion. In Ruskin’s use they diffuse a kind of glory on the page. 
“Romeo and Juliet” is thick-strewn with epithets. The ad- 
jectives in the following phrases from the play are epithets: 
Star-cross' d lovers , death-mark' d love, the worship p' d sun, the 
all-cheering sun, saint-seducing gold, earth-treading stars, well- 
apparell'd April, the all-seeing sun, beetle brows, grey-coated 
gnat, dew-dropping south, lazy-pacmg clouds, grey-eyed morn, 
decked darkness, precious-juiced dowers, wild-goose chase, 
love-devouring death, fiery-footed steeds, sober-suited matron, 
black-browed night, death-darting eye, dove-feathered raven, 
wolfish-ravening lamb, heart-sick groans, ill-divining soul, be- 
toss'd soul, world-wearied desh. 

Any word that presents an object to the imagination is in 
itself an image-figure. Every poetic word expressing a unit 
of imaginative power and capable of becoming a factor in a 
new figure of speech is itself an elemental figure of this class. 
Nouns and adjectives and some verbs and adverbs may be per- 
ceived sensuously by the imagination; nouns and adjectives 
are little descriptions presenting to the imagination forms in 
space ; verbs and adverbs are little passages in narration pre- 
senting to the imagination a procession of forms in time. 

The image-figure must be a noun, or an adjective, or a verb 
or adverb; the noun that addresses the imagination is either 
the figure metonymy or synecdoche; the adjective is the figure 
epithet ; and the verb or adverb is the figure allegory. 

The following mosaic ‘of imagery is set with metonymies 
and epithets, a wonder of color and light, from the ancient 
promontories sleeping in the sun, to the wall of ice in the polar 
twilight : 

“We know that gentians grow on the Alps, and olives on the Apen- 
nines; but we do not enough conceive for ourselves that variegated 
mosaic of the world’s surface which a bird sees in its migration, that 
difference between the district of the gentian and of the olive which 


"“Paradise Tost” n, 385-396. 


59 


the stork and the swallow see far off, as they lean upon the sirocco 
wind. Let us, for a moment, try to raise ourselves even above the 
level of their flight, and imagine the Mediterranean lying beneath us 
like an irregular lake, and all its ancient promontories sleeping in the 
sun; here and there an angry spot of thunder, a grey stain of storm, 
moving upon the burning field; and here and there a fixed wreath of 
white volcano smoke, surrounded by its circle of ashes; but for the 
most part a great peacefulness of light, Syria and Greece, Italy and 
Spain, laid like pieces of a golden pavement into the sea-blue, chased, 
as we stoop nearer to them, with bossy beaten work of mountain chains, 
and glowing softly with terraced gardens, and flowers heavy with 
frankincense, mixed among masses of laurel, and orange and plumy 
palm, that abate with their grey green shadows the burning of the 
marble rocks, and of the ledges of porphyry sloping under lucent sand. 
Then let us pass farther towards the north, until we see the orient 
colors change gradually into a vast belt of rainy green, where the 
pastures of Switzerland, and poplar valleys of France, and dark forests 
of the Danube and Carpathians stretch from the mouths of the Loire 
to those of the Volga, seen through clefts in grey swirls of rain-cloud 
and flaky veils of the mist of the brooks, spreading low along the 
pasture lands : and then, farther north still, to see the earth heave into 
mighty masses of leaden rock and heathy moor, bordering with a broad 
waste of gloomy purple that belt of field and wood, and splintering 
into irregular and grisly islands amidst the northern seas, beaten by 
storm and chilled by ice-drift, and tormented by furious pulses of con- 
tending tide, until the roots of the forests fail from among the hill 
ravines, and the hunger of the north wind bites their peaks into barren- 
ness ; and at last, the wall of ice, durable like iron, sets, deathlike, its 
white teeth against us out of the polar twilight.” 49 

9. Figurative Quality. — Figurative quality is natural. It is 
the projection in language of the imaginative activity caused 
by emotions. A good figure is never artificial; all figurative 
quality is properly a true expression of mood and feeling. It 
is of fundamental importance to regard figurative phenomena 
as expressive of real mental states and thoroughly natural. 

In the Correlative figures the mood is intellectual, lightened 
half-consciously with emotional influence that stirs imaginative 
activity like the slow swinging of search-lights. In the Subject- 
Figures the mood is emotional and the imaginative action cor- 
respondingly intense. All the figures that develop from emo- 
tion, ranging from the normal intellectual to the impassioned 
state, have an interesting tonal relation ; each figure has a char- 
acteristic emotional vibration any increase of which produces 
a change in the figure. Then under increasing emotional in- 
tensity the form of figurative expression changes in the follow- 
ing order: comparison, simile, metaphor, personification, and 
so on through the wide range of the Emotional type of figures. 
So each figure is the natural and true expression of a corre- 
sponding mental state. 


Ruskin, “Stones of Venice.’ 


6o 


Figurative quality is diffusive. As imaginative activity in- 
creases and becomes more intense the light of imagination is 
diffused more and more; it is not limited to formal figures. 
The psychic activity is an expressive energy in every word: 
the Correlative figures disappear; the Subject-Figures disap- 
pear, even the Emotional forms are discarded in the deepest 
passionateness of imaginative activity; the Image-Figures 
shine in single words, — nouns are metonymies and synec- 
doches, adjectives are epithets, verbs and adverbs are alle- 
gories. The harmonizing spirit of imagination diffuses beauty 
through the words, and affects the syllables until the sound is 
an image-echo of the meaning and the whole composition is 
wrought into deepening harmony. 

Impressionistic quality is thus diffused through the compo- 
sition. Imaginative radiance is like starlight and the deepen- 
ing vision is lighted beyond with unseen stars. There is such 
diffusion of light in the following lines : 

“The blessed damozel leaned out 
From the gold bar of Heaven; 

Her eyes were deeper than the depth 
Of waters stilled at even; 

She had three lilies in her hand, 

And the stars in her hair were seven.” 80 

The ratio of figurative element to figurative quality changes 
with every advance in rhetorical composition ; the element be- 
comes less and the quality more. Imaginative language tends 
to become like an unseen harp in the window. 

Figurative language in English literature shows this. The 
older figures are relatively long and formal, often developed to 
the proportions of an episode. As standards of style became 
more simple and natural, figures became shorter and less for- 
mal. The figurative elements were subordinated, clauses con- 
densed into phrases, phrases into words, and words into impli- 
cations and allusions, until the figurative element was lost in 
figurative quality diffused through the composition. 

Figures of speech in modern imaginative composition are 
brief : a short simile, a swift metaphor, an emotional form, a 
passing allegory, a glow of epithets, a radiance of metonymy^ 
and synecdoche, 

“A dusky empire and its diadems; 

One faint eternal eventide of gems.”* 1 

Figurative quality is passionate. Feeling underlies all rhe- 
torical expression, giving it essential personal quality through 

“Gabriel Charles Dante Rossetti (1828-1882), “The Blessed Damo- 
zel.” 

81 “Endymion” 2, 224-225. 


6i 


rhythm, ana giving it also personal interpretations through 
metre and forms of imagination. Feeling stirs the imagina- 
tion into action, but the imaginative effects are diversified by 
the wide range of the feelings themselves, by personal temper- 
ament, and by personal discipline. Some feelings have their 
origin in things of the senses and some in things of the soul; 
some feelings are superficial and some are profound. One 
person is by temperament emotional and relatively unimagina- 
tive ; another person, like Mercutio, is cold as mountain ice, but 
every word glows with imagination; still another person has 
emotion and imagination, and maintains a just relation between 
them. One person is undisciplined in his emotions; another 
has them moderated and controlled. In “Rab and His Friends” 
the relation of emotion and motive among medical students is 
thus described : 

“Don’t think them heartless; they are neither better nor worse than 
you or I ; they get over their professional horrors, and into their proper 
work — and in them pity — as an emotion, ending in itself, or at best in 
tears and a long-drawn breath, lessens, while pity as a motive, is quick- 
ened, and gains power and purpose. It is well for poor human nature 
that it is so.” M 

Passionateness is not important unless it is disciplined. 
Strength appears in moderation and in fineness of control. 
Not in noise and emotional diffusiveness is the passionateness 
of great poetry shown. The meaning of this appears in Ten- 
nyson’s “Crossing the Bar,” a lyric of deep passionateness : 

“But such a tide as moving seems asleep. 

Too full for sound and foam, 

When that which drew from out the boundless deep 
Turns again home.” 

io. Metre. — Metre is measure; it distinguishes verse from 
prose. All rhetorical composition has rhythm but verse alone 
has metre. It is therefore important to distinguish clearly be- 
tween rhythm and metre. 

Rhythm is the essential mark of rhetorical quality and it 
gives to both prose and verse a fundamental undulation of 
stress like ocean surges — an effect imparted to composition by 
.personality. Rhythm is the life-pulse in rhetorical expression 
and is, therefore, unpremeditated and various; it follows the 
emotions under the changing influences and incentive of reason 
and imagination. Metre, on the other hand, is artificial and 
constant. 

The difference between metre and rhythm is shown in the 

52 John Brown, M. D. (1810-1882), “Rab and His Friends.” 


62 


following stanza arranged first, in the metrical lines, and sec- 
ond, in rhythmic lines : 

4 4 4 4 4 

“Most ugly shapes and horrible aspects, 

4 4 4 4 4 

Such as Dame Nature selfe mote feare to see, 

4 4 4 4 4 

Or shame that ever should so fowle defects 

4 '4 4 4 4 

From her most cunning hand escaped bee; 

4 4 ' 4 4 % 4 

All dreadfull pourtraicts of deformitee: 

4 4 4 4 ' 4 

Spring-headed Hydres; and sea-shouldring Whales; 

4 4 4 4 4 

Great whirlpools which all fishes make to flee; 

4 4 4 4 4 

Bright Scolopendraes arm’d with silver scales; 

4 4 4 4 4 4 

Mighty Monoceroses with immeasured tayles.” 


The metrical plan of these verses constitutes the stanza of 
“The Faerie Queene,” called the “Spenserian Stanza.” It con- 
sists of nine lines, the first eight of five feet and the ninth of 
six feet. Each foot consists of two syllables with the accent 
on the last syllable. The verse form of the first eight lines is 
called iambic pentameter; the ninth line is iambic hexameter, 
known also as an “Alexandrine.” The rhyme scheme is 
a b a b b c b c c. There are three sets of rhyme. 

This shows the artificial and conventional nature of metre. 
It is a measured and fixed form of language giving in the 
accented places, in the cadences of lines, in the rhymes, oppor- 
tunities for emphasis in the expression of thought. 

The rhythm that underlies this stanza is shown in the fol- 
lowing arrangement in which the rhythmic phrases are given 
in lines : 

4 

Most ugly shapes 

i 

And horrible aspects 
Such as Dame Nature selfe 

S 

Mote feare to see, 

Or shame that ever should so fowle defects 

From her most cunning hand 
/ 

Escaped bee; 

All dreadfull pourtraicts of deformitee: 


53 


‘The Faerie Queene,” 2, 12, 23. 


63 

Spring-headed Hydres; 

And sea-shouldring Whales; 

Great whirlpools which all fishes make to flee; 

Bright Scolopendraes arm’d with silver scales; 

4 4 

Mighty Monoceroses with immeasured tayles. 

The rhythm is fundamental, an undertone of harmony like 
surges that bear the sea-waves. There are three surges of 
movement reenforcing the effect of the three-part rhyme 
scheme of the metre. The phrases center sound and sense in 
significant syllables, and these lift and accelerate the movement 
to the top of the surge. The first succession is ugly, horrible , 
Nature, feare, fowle; the second succession is cunning, es- 
caped, deformitee ; the third succession is Hydres, Whales, 
flee, Scolopendraes, Monoceroses, and a vanishing stress on 
immeasured of the prolonged close. The rhythm underlies the 
metre and deepens all the influences of the poetry, enduing it 
with gravitation force and essential harmony. 

Metre is useful to expression in creating, at regular and ex- 
pected intervals, stress-points where the important words may 
be located. In literature, accent and sense should coincide. 
When an accent falls on a trivial syllable, triviality is empha- 
sized ; when sense follows the accent the emphasis is a double 
pleasure of sense and sound. 

n. Metrical Elements. — The metrical elements are the syl- 
lable, the foot, the verse, and the stanza. The basis of metre 
is the syllable. A syllable-succession centering in an accented 
syllable is a metrical foot. A succession of metrical feet form- 
ing a unit of metrical movement is a verse. A series of verses 
in an ordered succession constituting one group is a stanza. 
Measure characterizes all these elements from the syllable to 
the stanza. 

The metrical elements correspond in a suggestive way with 
the elements of composition. Verse and prose have a common 
basis in the syllable, and the metrical foot, the verse, the 
stanza, have much in common respectively with the word, the 
sentence, the paragraph. 

The Syllable . The syllable is the musical element in a 
melodic succession of measured, or accented and unaccented, 
sounds. The influence of Latin and Greek prosody has given 
a nomenclature to English versification. The Latin or Greek 
syllable is long or short; the English syllable is accented or 
unaccented. But although the English syllable has no quan- 


6 4 


tity, accent really lengthens the time of pronunciation: so we 
may call the accented syllable long, and the unaccented syllable 
short as in Latin and Greek measures. 

The Foot. The metrical foot has either two or three sylla- 
bles. The dissyllabic foot is an iambus (short and long) hav- 
ing an unaccented and an accented syllable; or it is a trochee 
(long and short) having an accented and an unaccented sylla- 
ble. The trisyllabic foot is an anapest (short, short, long) 
having two unaccented syllables and one accented; or it is a 
dactyl (long, short, short) having one accented syllable and 
two unaccented. 

The Verse. The characteristic English verse-movement is 
iambic. Chaucer is prevailingly iambic, so are Wyatt and 
Surrey, so is Edmund Spenser. Marlowe’s “mighty line” is 
iambic blank verse, so is the verse form of Shakespeare. 
“Paradise Lost” is iambic blank verse; the heroic couplet of 
Dryden and Pope is iambic; Gray’s “Elegy” is iambic; Words- 
worth’s “Prelude” is iambic; so are Tennyson’s “Idylls.” 

The verse or line has usually three or more feet called 
trimeter or three-stress, tetrameter or four-stress, pentameter 
or five-stress, hexameter or six-stress, and seven-stress or 
eight-stress, as the case may be. Variations from the normal 
verse sometimes occur: an unaccented syllable added is called 
a “feminine ending” ; an unaccented syllable prefixed is called 
“anacrusis”; a phrasal-pause within the line t independent of 
the division into feet, is called a “cesura” ; a pause, correspond- 
ing to a rest in music, and taking the place of a syllable, some- 
times occurs. When the meaning stops with the verse the line 
is called “end-stopped” ; when it does not it is called “run-on.” 
Verse without rhyme is called “blank verse.” 

The verse is described by naming the kind of foot and the 
number of feet in the verse. Thus, Marlowe’s line is iambic 
pentameter blank verse : 

Was this | the face | that launched | a thousand ships | 

And burnt | the top|less towers | of Il|ium ?| 64 

Longfellow’s “Evangeline” is dactylic hexameter: 

This is the | forest primeval. || The | 
murmuring | pines and the | hemlocks. | 

The Stanza. The stanza is a series of verses constituting one 
thought-progression or one wave of feeling. Rhyme and the 

“Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593), “Doctor Faustus” sc. 14. 


65 

stanza came into the language together, and rhyme is a main 
element of synthesis in giving to the stanza the effect of unity. 
The wide range of effect in different stanzas may be suggested 
by noting the Quatrain, the Spenserian Stanza, and the Sonnet. 

The Quatrain is a four-line stanza. Gray’s “Elegy” is a 
quatrain with alternate rhymes that may be expressed by the 
letters a b ab: 

The cur|few tolls | the knell | of parting day, | 

The low |ing herd | wind slow|ly o’er | the lea, | 

The plough | man home | ward plods | his wea|ry way | 

And leaves | the world | to dark|ness and | to me. | 

The rhyme scheme is a musical period; the thought is sus- 
tained holding its emphasis and meaning for the sound and 
sense in the last line. 

The varying of the rhyme scheme of the quatrain gives 
widely different effects. The arrangement abba has been 
used by Tennyson with such felicity of remote and near melody 
that it will always be called the “In Memoriam stanza.” 

The Spenserian Stanza is a triumph of English versification. 
The effect is shown in the following stanza from “The Faerie 
Queene” : 

“It was a chosen plott of fertile land, 

Emongst wide waves sett, like a little nest, 

As if it had by Nature’s cunning hand 
Bene choycely picked out from all the rest, 

And laid forth for ensample of the best: 

No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, 

No arborett with painted blossomes drest 

And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd 

To bud out faire, and throw her sweete smels al arownd.” “ 

The three sets of rhyme make three waves of sensuousness, 
culminating in the third wave with a prolonged close. The 
Spenserian stanzas are little poems, approaching the Sonnet 
in dignity and completeness, yet mingling in the continuing 
sweetness of “The Faerie Queene.” 

The Sonnet is a conventional stanza for a complete poem, 
expressing a single emotional conception. Formerly not lim- 
ited in length, it has crystallized into a fourteen-line stanza. 

There are two distinct sonnet-forms in English poetry — the 
Italian sonnet followed more or less closely by Milton and 
Wordsworth, and the English sonnet of Shakespeare. 

Milton’s sonnet “On His Blindness” illustrates the dignity 
of the Italian sonnet-form and the complex unity of its versifi- 


“ “The Faerie Queene” 2, 6, 12 . 


66 


cation. This sonnet consists of two metrical systems, the oc- 
tave having two quatrains, and the sestet having two tercets ; 
each system has its own rhymes. The octave has a rising 
movement and meaning, culminating in the question, Doth 
God exact day-labour , light denied ? The phrase, I fondly 
ask, ends the thought of the octave. The sestet has a sinking 
movement, and the thought of it begins in the octave with the 
words, But Patience. The two metrical systems are bound 
together by this over-reaching of the thought. The sestet is 
a logical and emotional cadence. The sonnet is a single wave 
of poetic feeling. The rhyme-scheme is 

abba\abba\\cde\cde. 

“When I consider how my light is spent 

Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, 

And that one talent which is death to hide 
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 
To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
My true account, lest he returning chide ; 

‘Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?' 

I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent 

That murmur, soon replies, ‘God doth not need a 

Either man’s work or his own gifts. Who best X/- 
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state ^ 

Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed, <x 

And post o’er land and ocean without rest ; */~ 

They also serve who only stand and wait’ ” 

.The octave of the Italian sonnet is based on two rhymes 
{abba abba) ; the sestet admits two or three rhymes arranged 
with considerable freedom (ede ede, cd cd cd). 

In the English sonnet of Shakespeare the rhyme-scheme of 
the first twelve lines is distinct from the last two: the first 
twelve are usually alternate rhymes forming three quatrains, 
and the last two lines a rhymed couplet (abab eded efef gg). 
The characteristic of the English sonnet is pervasive sweetness 
of sound, and a periodic effect in the thought sustained to the 
end. The rhymed couplet states the thought like the conclu- 
sion of a syllogism with an accompanying cadence of harmony. 

12. Types of Poetry. — Of poetry there are two elemental 
types and one compound type. The elemental types are the 
epic and the lyric. The compound type is the drama. 

The epic is objective in motive and matter, conventional in 
metre and treatment, characterized in tone and movement by 
the maj’estic effects of time. 

The lyric is subj’ective in motive and matter, original in 
metre and treatment, characterized in tone and movement by 
modes as various as its subj'ective origins. 


67 

The drama is objective in matter and subjective in spirit, a 
compound of epic and lyric influences, presenting the majestic 
passages of time with the intensity of personal experience. 

13. The Epic Type. — Dryden 56 began his “Discourse on 
Epic Poetry” thus : 

“An heroic poem (truly such) is undoubtedly the greatest work which 
the soul of man is capable to perform. The design of it is to form the 
mind to heroic virtue by example; it is conveyed in verse that it may 
delight while it instructs. The action of it is always one, entire, and 
great.” 

Comparing the epic with tragedy he says, 

“Tragedy is the miniature of human life; an epic poem is the draft at 
length, * * * After all, on the whole merits of the cause, it must be 
acknowledged that the epic poem is more for the manners, and tragedy 
for the passions.” 

The epic poem, then, is in verse, as the most obvious address 
to the soul. It has a high ethical motive, to form the mind 
to heroic virtue. It teaches by example and not by precept. 
Its chief unity is an action — “one, entire, and great.” It has 
no limitation of time other than the action imposes. It views 
life from without, as shown by manners, and not from within 
through experience of passions. 

The epic poem is a story — told and not acted. The telling 
of the story emphasizes the presence and the interpretations of 
the poet. This personal medium between us and the action 
removes the intensity of dramatic presentation, and gives the 
action depth of historical perspective, and the tranquillity of‘ 
remoteness. The drama utilizes the present and gains realism. 
The epic utilizes the past and gains idealism. Thomas Camp- 
bell wrote : 

“ ’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 

And robes the mountain in its azure hue.” 11 

The dignity of epic poetry as described by Dryden is well 
illustrated by the theme and motive of Milton’s “Paradise 
Lost.” The theme is as follows : 

“Of Man’s first disobedience, and the fruit 
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste 
Brought death into the World, and all our Woe, 

With loss of Eden, till one greater Man 
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, 

Sing, Heavenly Muse,” “ * * * 


“John Dryden (1631-1700). 

57 Thomas Campbell (1777-1844), ‘The Pleasures of Hope” 
“Milton (1608-1674), “Paradise Dost” 1, 1-6. 


68 


The motive is stated in the following lines : 

* * * “What in me is dark 
Illumine, what is low raise and support, 

That to the highth of this great argument, 

I may assert Eternal Providence, 

And justify the ways of God to men.” 59 

The conventional epic metre that usage has sanctioned in 
English poetry is the iambic pentameter of the “Paradise Lost.” 
The splendor of imagination, the solemnity of the theme, the 
dignified movement of the story are all enhanced by the deep 
music of the changeless lines. 

The epic type is objective. It includes narrative poetry and 
descriptive poetry. 

Narrative phases range from the epic proper through the 
long and short narrative poems to the ballad. There are the 
epics with complex plot and wide interest. There are the nar- 
rative poems like Scott’s “Lady of the Lake,” Keats’ “Eve of 
St. Agnes,” and Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” 
There are the folk-lore ballads like “Sir Patrick Spens,” and 
the Robin Hood ballads ; there are modern ballads like Words- 
worth’s “Lucy Gray” and Longfellow’s “Wreck of the Hes- 
perus.” 

Narrative-Descriptive phases of epic .poetry appear in Spen- 
ser’s “Faerie Queene,” in Keats’ “Endymion,” in Browning’s 
“Saul,” in Tennyson’s “Idylls of the King.” 

Descriptive phases range from poetry of nature to philo- 
sophical and didactic poetry, including such poems as Thom- 
son’s “Seasons,” Goldsmith’s “Deserted Village,” Wordsworth’s 
“Prelude” and “Tintern Abbey,” Cowper’s “Task,” Pope’s 
“Essay on Criticism.” 

14. The Lyric Type. — All material things are set in place 
and time, but the lyric has nothing more of place than atmos- 
phere and nothing more of time than motion. The lyric has 
the breath of atmosphere and the wings of motion. This is 
life and living, so literature which is self-expression finds its 
quintessence in the lyric, — the self-expression of a living 
soul, — etherealized life and living. 

Wonderful it is that spiritual influences can be enmeshed in 
words ; more wonderful still that words may become so lumi- 
nous with the white fire of their meaning that they themselves 
are lost in the glory of it. 

The lyric is like an seolian harp thrilling with unseen strings 
in the breath of the open air. The lyric is like the skylark, 


69 “Paradise Lost” 1, 22-26. 


69 

and verses from Shelley’s poem may help to understand the 
nature of the lyric and the ethereal quality of its music : 

“In the golden lightning 
Of the sunken sun, 

O’er which clouds are brightening, 

Thou dost float and run; 

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 
******* 

Like a poet hidden 
In the light of thought, 

Singing hymns unbidden, 

Till the world is wrought 
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not.” 80 

Lyric influence is elemental and personal. So it is that the 
soul is stirred by the voices of the fields and the sky and the 
sea and the forces that range to and fro between them, and 
under the winds of circumstance it awakens into song and 
projects itself in lyric influences. 

In the Library of Congress is a corrider dedicated to lyric 
poetry with this inscription : 

“The Poets who on earth have made us heirs 
Of Truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.” 

There is a painting there illustrating the theme of lyric 
poetry, and all the influences of the place are gathered into the 
radiant face of the Genius of Song. Six figures are grouped 
about her : on her right Passion and Beauty and Mirth ; on her 
left Pathos and Truth and Devotion. Beauty is reposeful and 
passively controls, for Beauty is the genial relation of Truth 
and the Soul. The Lyric is the expression of all these genial 
influences. 

The lyric type is subjective; it is the poetry of the heart. 
There is a cry in it — of joy, of love, of grief, of aspiration; 
it is the poetry of the spirit of man. It includes all songs and 
hymns and odes and sonnets. 

Such are Shakespeare’s “Under the Greenwood Tree” 
and “Who is Sylvia?”; Burns’ “Highland Mary”; Whitman’s 
“O, Captain! My Captain!”; Holmes’ “The Chambered Nau- 
tilus”; Milton’s “L’ Allegro” and “II Penseroso” ; Bryant’s 
“Thanatopsis” and “To a Waterfowl” ; Lanier’s “The Marshes 
of Glynn” ; Wordsworth’s “Ode on Intimations of Immortal- 
ity” ; Keats’ “Ode on a Grecian Urn” ; Shelley’s “Ode to the 
West Wind”; Lowell’s “Commemoration Ode.” There are, 


"Shelley (1792-1822), “The Skylark.” 
91 Wordsworth, “Personal Talk.” 


70 

also, the sonnets of Shakespeare, of Milton, of Wordsworth, 
of Keats. 

The greatest lyrics in the world are the Psalms of David — 
“simple, sensuous, and passionate.” No lyric influence has 
comforted so many as the twenty-third Psalm : 

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. 

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; 

He leadeth me beside the still waters. 

He restoreth my soul: 

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.” 

15. The Dramatic Type. — The drama through action and 
colloquy represents human experience in a form of poetic com- 
position combining the objective narrative interest of the epic 
and the subjective passionateness of the lyric. 

The drama gives little pictures of the world so full of per- 
sonal influences that seeing them we experience them. The 
drama is not primarily didactic, but imaginative, portraying 
life not through forms of exposition, but narration. Scenes 
and persons and events affect the imagination in such a way 
that we know how the dramatist feels about them. Thus it is 
an imitation of life with implicit interpretations. The action, 
brought within a three hours’ view, is intense, and the mean- 
ing interpreted by the imagination is deeply felt. The power 
of dramatic presentation to influence men is thus expressed by 
Shakespeare : 

“Invest me in my motley; give me leave 
To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 

If they will patiently receive my medicine.” 62 

This is akin to the power of oratory full of personal influ- 
ence. 

But the drama is picturesque, not didactic. It does not'give 
syllogisms to engage the logical faculty, — but pictures of the 
order of the world variously stirring the imagination, and so 
awakening deepest feelings that become the satisfying themes 
of meditation and intellectual life. The drama is poetry and 
the meaning of it, like the Meaning of Things in human life, is 
mystical. 

Drama means “deed:” it is something done; and thb deed / 
unifies the play, making it “dramatic.” All effects, all action, 
all character, all thought — everything in the drama is intense. 
The deed makes it so. 


" “As You Like It” 2, 7, 58-61. 


7 1 


The drama is concerned with whatever men may do. Com- 
edy is the interest of circumstance with the primary emphasis 
upon action. Tragedy is the interest of soul-conflict with the 
primary emphasis upon character. 

1 6. The Gleam. — 

“God is the perfect poet 

Who in creation acts out his own conception.” 88 

When God said, “Let there be light, ” and every atom of 
matter, endued with gravitation force, became a living thing, 
that creative union of spirit and matter made nature a kind of 
Divine poetry. The spiritual expressiveness of the material 
world has been from the beginning a Divine revelation through 
a primal mode of poetry. 

Spiritual forces from the earth and the sea and the sky im- 
press us with awe. The Psalmist describes the poetry of the 
works of God : 

“The heavens declare the glory of God : 

And the firmament showeth his handiwork. 

Day unto day uttereth speech, 

And night unto night showeth knowledge. 

There is no speech nor language; 

Their voice is not heard. 

Their line is gone out through all the earth, 

And their words to the end of the world.” 64 

It is so with all the forces of poetry ; there is no speech nor 
language ; their voice is not heard. The glory is not the glory 
of the sun, but the glory of God. The light of poetry is not a 
splendor of words, but a spiritual light : 

“Not of the sunlight, 

Not of the moonlight 
Not of the starlight! 

O, young Mariner, 

Down to the haven, 

Call your companions, 

Launch your vessel, 

And crowd your canvas, 

And, ere it vanishes 
Over the margin, 

After it, follow it, 

Follow The Gleam.” 63 


“Robert Browning (1812-1889), “Paracelsus.” 
84 Psalms 19, 1-4. American Revised Version. 
“Tennyson, “Merlin and the Gleam.” 




CHAPTER IV. 


NARRATION. 


i. Narration. — Narration is a personal expression through 
language of the relations of events in time. It is rhetorical and 
therefore is expressed in language characterized by personal 
quality; it is a series of events showing succession and change, 
and its distinctive feature is time-relations. It is a mode of 
the imagination, appealing to the senses — chiefly to the eye of 
the mind and to the ear of the mind. 

A narrative should be whole, quick, simple, and sensuous. 

Whole. A narrative should he whole. Every narrative 
should be ^ circle satisfying the interest it awakens. The 
movement gravitates on some center. The premises lead to 
some conclusion. The persons go to their own company. And 
the circle of the movement, and the thought, and the human 
interest should be complete. A narrative is a composition, and 
all the parts should, be fitly framed together, producing an 
effect of unity and wholesomeness. 

Quick. A narrative should be quick. It should be alive and 
should move. Movement is distinctive of narration, which 
alone among the secondary modes of style has to do with time. 
Narration is a mode of motion. If a story is slow in getting 
started it will have few readers ; if it is slow in its movement 
few readers will finish it. The action should not be a drag 
upon the reader; if he anticipates it and waits for it to come 
up he will soon weary of it. A narrative may be long, but it 
must not be lengthy. Time flies, and if a narrative has not sus- 
tained life and power it will seem relatively slow and tedious. 
The efficiency of narration centers in the movement — in verbs 
and adverbs and particles of transition. 

The movement of the narrative is like all the waves of the 
sea driven before the wind. The theme is the power of the 
subject driving one way through the story. Like sailing down 
the wind, with the lift of the sea, and the following waves, and 
the boat, all driving together — so is the glory of motion in a 
good story. 

Movement is relative. The mind derives a standard of 
movement from the character of the action, and the movement 

(72) 


73 


of the composition is controlled by this standard. The rate of 
movement may be retardec Lbv the accumulation of amplifying 
details, giving leisurely, tranquil quality ; it “may be accelerated 
by discarding amplification, leaving the mere outline inlean, 
sinewy strength. But whether the movement be swift or slow, 
it must maintain the rate of progress set by the action, and 
must lead and not follow the thought. Intensity of movement 
is influenced by variation of stress. Some effects are note- 
worthy. 

One effect of variation is contrast, illustrated in Stevenson’s 
“Kidnapped” by the setting oFThe narrative, first, in domestic 
scenes ; second, on the high seas ; third, in the wild highlands ; 
and by similar effects in details where strong contrast intensi- 
fies movement. A second effect is climax, illustrated in “Kid- 
napped” in the siege of the roundfrottse, culminating in the 
fight in the cabin. A third effect is suggestion, where through 
an appeal to the imagination the mental life is stimulated as by 
breathing oxygen and the intensity increased. This is illus- 
trated in “Kidnapped” where the boy David climbs the tower 
stairs in the night and storm and, reaching forward, finds no 
place for his hand to rest. 

Simple . A narrative should be simple. It addresses itself 
primarily to the feelings and not to the understanding. We 
naturally say that we enjoy a story and not that we understand 
it. The intellectual interest must be subordinated to emotional 
interest. To insure this, all intellectual complexity should be 
avoided. The plot should be so simple that it will be under- 
stood in detail and its total effect be clear. The character in- 
terest, likewise, should be free from all troublesome perplexi- 
ties. All of the elements of the narrative should have such an 
effect upon the mind as will awaken and maintain emotional 
interest. When the mind is troubled in analysis and does not 
feel with axiomatic certainty the meaning and the function of 
the elements, the interest of the story is weakened. Narration 
is first emotional, then intellectual ; it must not be embarrassed 
by intellectual perplexity ; it should be simple. 

Sensuous. A narrative should be sensuous. This is the 
secret of power. The world of the senses is a sensuous world, 
and narration is a mode of the imagination. All higher feel- 
ings and impulses come to us through a sensuous medium. 
The vocabulary of spiritual things consists of metaphorical 
words expressing the spiritual things in terms of the senses. 
Exposition deals with abstraction, but narration is concerned 
with' the world of the senses. 


74 


Sense-perceptions are a means to an end — the medium 
through which we see the higher intellectual and spiritual 
realities. This is the sensuous world which is the field of 
power in narration, where through the things that are seen 
we have a vision of the things that are not seen. Narration 
should be sensuous — full of the things of the visible world, 
stirring the imagination with the power and interest of untold 
stories and of things unsaid. 

2. Elements of Narrative Interest. — There are four ele- 
ments — plot, character, thought, and style. 

Plot. Plot is organized action. A narrative is a complex 
organism— a whole composed of parts intimately related and 
harmonized through principles of association. The first pro- 
cess in studying plot is analysis , the separation of the parts. 
The second process is synthesis,' t he discovery of the qualities 
uniting these parts and' giving them consistency. The third 
process is emphasis, the rhythm of the story, like the beat in 
music or the stress of the ictus in a line of poetry. The point 
of view in all of these interpretations is that of the Other-Self. 
The narrative is addressed to the Other-Self, and the subject 
of study is the effect of the narrative on the Other-Self. 

Character. The human interest of narrative composition 
centers primarily in character. What we are and what we 
ought to be are the two poles between which all conceptions of 
character move. Realism, the essential prose of reason — the 
material as it is and the spiritual as it is, with imperfect rela- 
tions everywhere; and idealism, the essential poetry of imagi- 
nation — the material and the spiritual in such relation as shall 
perfectly develop and express them both, constitute the pri- 
mary modes of character in all narration. The primary modes 
of character treatment are these two — Realism and Idealism. 

Character may be presented as a conception of personality 
remaining unchanged throughout the story, or it may be pre- 
sented as a changing organism influenced by the experiences of 
the plot. As all true character portrayal is organic, the differ- 
ence between a fixed portraiture and a developing portraiture 
is one of relative emphasis. The distinction is of practical im- 
portance, and the secondary modes of treatment may be desig- 
nated respectively as Static and Dynamic. 

Characteristics individualize actual persons, making them 
appear good or bad ; the recognition of man as a moral being 
gives an ideal of Goodness. In works of imagination we re- 
quire that conceptions of character appear natural and self- 


75 


consistent, and that character relations also be natural. In real 
life the condition of actuality satisfies this requirement, but in 
fiction the portrayal of character must seem in all respects con- 
sistent and so give an effect of naturalness. This is a severer 
limitation than actuality; so the proverb arises that truth is 
stranger than fiction. There are two fundamental require- 
ments, therefore, in the portrayal of character — Goodness and 
Naturalness. 

Thought. A chief interest in narration is its thought-con- 
tent. Emerson says, — 

“The effect of any writing on the public mind is mathematically 
measurable by its depth of thought. How much water does it draw? 
If it awaken you to think; if it lift you from your feet with the great 
voice of eloquence ; then the effect is to be wide, slow, permanent, over 
the minds of men; if the pages instruct you not, they will die like flies 
in the hour .” 1 

This rightly measures the importance of thought in narra- 
tion. Every story has some seed-thought from which it grows, 
some theory of truth, the dynamics of some idea developing 
the plot, the human interest of -questions and opinions and 
ideals, and the meaning of things beyond the facts, giving to 
the story ultimate spiritual value. 

The interest of thought therefore presents in every narra- 
tive a Theme , a Philosophy, a Motive, Personal Phases of 
thought, and a quality of Spirituality. 

Style. There are two sides to style — Diction and Life . Dic- 
tion is the material medium of language, involving the interest 
of technic with all the possibilities of power afforded by the 
art of composition. Life is the spiritual energy, individual and 
personal, which inspires and quickens language, making com- 
position in its very inception an organism. In all rhetorical 
composition diction and life are inseparable. The distinctive 
problems of narrative composition are Finding the Story, the 
Method of the Story, and the Details of the Story. 

The field of narrative structure and interest is presented in 
the following plan : 


Essay on “Spiritual Laws.’ 


76 


The Plan. 

Plot. 

Analysis : Cycles and Epicycles and Phases of Interest. 

Synthesis: Place, Period, Time, Atmosphere, Tone, Theme, Mo- 
tive, Persons, Grouping, Plot-Conventionalities. 
Emphasis: Primary Stress: Incitement, Climax, Catastrophe. 

Secondary Stress : Plot-Effects, Character-Effects, 
Thought-Effects. 

Tone-Intensity: Epic, Lyric, Dramatic. 

Tone-Color: Comic, Light, Neutral, Serious, Grave, 
Tense, Tragic. 

Character. 

Modes of Treatment: 

Primary Modes: Realism, Idealism. 

Secondary Modes : Static, Dynamic. 

Characteristics : 

Goodness — moral propriety. 

Naturalness — organic propriety. 

Thought. 

Theme — the Seed-Thought. 

Philosophy — the Theory of Truth. 

Motive — the Thought-Dynamics. 

Personal Phases — the Human Interest of Thought. 

Spirituality — the Meaning of Things. 

Style. 

Composition — Diction and Life constituting an Organism. 

Finding the Story. 

Method of the Story. 

Details of the Story. 

3. Plot Analysis. — Plot is the narrative effect of organiza- 
tion. Arrangement of narrative-elements gives a sense of de- 
sign, and pervasiveness of forces through a succession of events 
gives a sense of motive. Design and motive, working together 
into unity, give that narrative-effect which we call plot. 

A plot may be simple or compound : it is simple if it consists 
of one story; it is compound if it consists of more than one. 
A single story making a simple plot, or a principal story in a 
compound plot, we may call a Cycle; a subordinate story we 
may call an Epicycle ; a distinctive part of a single story we may 
call a Phase. 

Simple Plot. The Novel with a simple plot may have a de- 
gree of complexity introduced by changes of setting, tone, or 
action producing distinct phases of the same story. Such a 
plot is that of Stevenson’s “Kidnapped,” a novel of about 
80,000 words. 


77 


There is but one cycle of interest — the story of David Bal- 
four — and the development of the story presents successive 
phases affording variety and contrast. 

Plot Analysis of “Kidnapped,” 

Main Adventure Cycle: David Balfour. 

Intrigue Motive Phase: The House of Shaws. 

Counter Sea Phase: The Brig Covenant. 

Counter Jacobite Phase: The Wild Highlands. 

Link Resolving Phase: Mr. Rankeillor. 

A simple plot with a greater degree of complexity may be 
studied in novels with one cycle of interest contributed to by 
one or more epicycles. Such a plot is that of Dickens’ “David 
Copperfield,” a novel of about 340,000 words. 

Plot Analysis of “David Copperfield,” 

Main Character Cycle: David Copperfield. 

Intrigue Epicycle: Uriah Heep. 

Tragic Epicycle: “Little Emily.” 

Humorous Epicycle: The Micawbers. 

Compound, Plot, The compound plot consists of two or 
more stories forming the principal parts of the plot. Each 
principal part is a cycle. These cycles may be variously re- 
lated in the action, producing complication or resolution. The 
principal stories may be variously modified by subordinate 
stories forming epicycles with complicating or resolving or 
connecting functions. Such a plot is that of Bulwer Lyttori’s 
“The Last Days of Pompeii,” a novel of about 170,000 words. 

Plot Analysis of “The Last Days of Pompeii” 

Main Love Cycle: Glaucus and lone. 

Intrigue Counter-Cycle: Arbaces the Egyptian. 

Tragic Epicycle: The Gladiators — a Projection of Paganism. 

Resolving Epicycle: The Nazarenes — a Projection of Christianity. 

Enveloping Cycle: Pompeian Society — the Hardness of Paganism. 

The plot of a novel is generally complex. Forces good and 
bad are arrayed in antagonism and conflict, and out of this 
confusion and complication comes one triumphant — the good 
or the evil. “The Last Days of Pompeii” has in its plot five 
centers of interest, distinct yet closely related. 

Unconsciously, as we read, there develops sympathy with 
the love of Glaucus and lone, antagonism against Arbaces, who 
plots to win lone, pity for those men whose business it was to 
fight and die for the people, respect and tender interest for the 


78 

Christians who separate from the wot id yet suffer in the world, 
and a growing horror of that world — the inhumanity and the 
hardness of paganism. 

These feelings, awakened by men and actions in the progress 
of the story, define cleavage planes indicating the elements of 
the plot and the character of those elements. Thus the story 
of Glaucus is a love story; that of Arbaces is a story of in- 
trigue; that of the Gladiators a shadow of tragedy; that of the 
Nazarenes a resolving and purifying force — “a still, small 
voice” of deeper portent than the lightnings of Vesuvius; and 
that of the people, high and low, an enveloping atmosphere of 
heartlessness — “Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die !” 

The analysis of the plot is an interpretation of the story. 

Another more complex sort of compound plot has a main 
plot and an underplot, each having one or more cycles. The 
function of the underplot is by parallel or contrast to illustrate 
and intensify the effect of the main plot. An excellent illus- 
tration of this is the tragedy of “King Lear/’ where the story 
of Gloucester and his sons in the underplot gives intensity of 
effect to the story of Lear and his daughters. 

4. Plot Synthesis. — All plots are wrought out in place and 
time and circumstance, through persons and motives and 
themes of activity, by conventional or unique means. These 
elements are pervasive, constituting synthetic forces working 
to a unity. 

The nature of these synthetic influences may be seen in the 
following studies : 

Plot Synthesis of “Kidnapped” 

Place: Edinburgh — the Sea — the Wild Highlands. 

Period: Aftermath of “The Forty-Five.” 

Time: 1751: First week in June to August 25. 

Atmosphere: Intrigue, Adventure, Conspiracy. 

Tone: Epic. 

Theme: “Memoirs of the Adventures of David Balfour in the 
year 1751: How he was kidnapped and cast away; his 
sufferings in a Desert Isle, his journey in the Wild 
Highlands; his acquaintance with Alan Brech Stewart 
and other notorious Highland Jacobites” 

Philosophy: “We must just bear and forbear, man Alan” 

Personal Projection of Adventure Spirit: Alan Brech. 

Central Person : David Balfour, the Narrator. 

Method: Personal Memoirs. 


79 


Plot Synthesis of “ David Copperfield” 

Place: London, Yarmouth. 

Time: 1812-49. 

Atmosphere: The Pathos of Commonplace. 

Tone: Epic; Sympathetic Realism. 

Theme: Development of strong, successful manhood under dis- 
couragement. 

Central Person: David Copperfield, the Narrator. 

Motive Persons : Betsy Trotwood and Agnes. 

Complicating Persons : Murdstone, Steerforth, Heep. 

Resolving Persons : The Micawbers, Traddles. 

Link Persons : Peggotty, Dora. 

Method: Personal Memoirs. 

Plot Synthesis of “ The Last Days of Pompeii” 

Place: Pompeii. 

Time: The First Century. 

Atmosphere: The Malaria of Paganism. 

Tone: Dramatic. 

Theme: A portrait of the Pompeian social system, old in feature 
and costume; in passions and heart, as in all ages, the 
same. 

Motive: Love, Pleasure, Avarice. 

Protagonist: Glaucus. 

Antagonist: Arbaces. 

Link Persons : lone, Nydia, Apaecides, Lydon. 

Sign: The Cloud above Vesuvius — an Omen of Destruction. 

The plot of “The Last Days of Pompeii” is unified by a 
background of place and time — the last days of Pompeii, by 
pervasive motives — love and pleasure and avarice, by central 
persons — the protagonist Glaucus and the antagonist Arbaces, 
by link persons — connecting the different circles of interest, by 
the atmosphere of this ancient city — an image of the pagan 
world, and by the sign of the ominous cloud always over 
Vesuvius. The worth of the historical background of place 
and time, to unify and quicken interest in the buried city, is 
enhanced by the fact that excavations have made it possible 
for men to walk once more the streets of Pompeii. 

Atmosphere is also a unifying force. The atmosphere of 
fhis heathen city, this microcosm of Rome, is inclusive and per- 
vasive. As the face of the Witch of Vesuvius had “waned 
from the hues of life merely by watching over the rank herbs” 


8o 


which simmered night and day in her caldron, so “The Last 
Days of Pompeii” is marked by the malaria of paganism. 

Love is a motive so wrought into the warp and woof of the 
story as to give consistency to the whole — the love of Glaucus 
for lone, the ’ove of Nydia for Glaucus, the love of Lydon for 
his father. The torch of pleasure guides the mazes of Arbaces’ 
life, and consuming avarice controls Pansa the sedile and 
Clodius the gamester and the rich Diomed and the parasites 
who follow them all. So motive in the plot becomes an ele- 
ment of synthesis. 

There are persons central to the story, persons who come 
and go until they become familiar figures. We know how 
they look, how they dress, how they talk; and we know all 
those little peculiarities of manner that distinguish and indi- 
vidualize a person. At the beginning we hear of Glaucus, and 
from beginning to end we see him or hear of him, and come to 
feel that the story is his story. Arbaces the Magician, the 
guardian of lone, is likewise everywhere in the story; his 
blighting presence and his evil eye fall upon us at the very 
beginning, and we are not free until the column crushes him in 
the destruction of the city. 

The plot is knit firmly together by link personages. So lone 
serves to associate Glaucus and Arbaces, and Nydia is con- 
nected with every circle of interest except that of the Naza- 
renes; Apsecides connects his sister lone and Arbaces and 
the Nazarenes; Lydon, the young gladiator, through his old 
father, Medon, connects the gladiators and the Nazarenes. 

The sign of the cloud above Vesuvius is an element of syn- 
thesis in the book. At the end of every vista is the ominous 
cloud — a presentiment of evil. 

5. Plot Emphasis. — The emphasis of a narrative develops 
its character. Beauty shines through translucent places in the 
composition, and force snaps crisply through the processes of 
the sentences. Emphasis is impressionism. The well-told story 
is interpreted through nerve-thrills and pulses. We are glad 
or sorry, we sing or sigh, because of the music and rhythm 
that sounds and surges in sensuous impulses through the story. 

Plot-emphasis presents three phases of interest — Primary 
Stress, Secondary Stress, and Tone. 

In Shakespeare’s tragedy of “Romeo and Juliet” the primary 
stress is as follows : 

Incitement, 1, 5, 43 : Romeo, What lady’s that, * * * 

Climax, 3, 1, 141 : Romeo. O, I am fortune’s fool. 

Catastrophe, 5, 3, 169-170 : Juliet. O, happy dagger ! This is thy 
sheath ; there rust and let me die. 


8i 


These are the dramatic centers of the story — the beginning, 
middle, and end. In this way the primary stress marks the 
poise, point, and unity of the action. 

The secondary stress of “Romeo and Juliet” consists of the 
successive interest-centers that are recurrent pulses of em- 
phasis, like the accent of the phrase in prose or the beat of the 
ictus in a line of verse. There are thirty-nine such effects in 
“Romeo and Juliet/’ The number depends, of course, on 
some principle of limitation as the number of visible stars de- 
pends on the limitation of natural vision. There is a continuity 
of interest, but the movement is in pulses. To understand the 
character of these pulse-beats of emphasis is to understand 
the play. The thirty-nine effects are distributed as follows: 
Irony, seven; Pathos, seven; Foreboding, nine; Foreshadow- 
ing, four; Sensuousness, four; Indignation, two; Grief , two; 
Sadness, one ; Decision, one ; Goodness, one ; Philosophy, one. 

Inspection shows that Irony and Pathos constitute fourteen 
effects, expressing the fact that the persons of the play didn’t 
know and couldn’t help the drift of circumstance ; second, that 
Foreboding and Foreshadowing, Grief and Sadness constitute 
sixteen effects, showing that the persons felt with repeated 
emphasis the burden of misfortune. These groups of effects, 
constituting seventy-seven per cent of the secondary emphasis, 
reiterate the theme of the “misadventured piteous overthrows” 
of a pair of “star-cross’d lovers.” 

The tone of “Romeo and Juliet” is dramatic and grave. The 
mode of dramatic literature presents the long effects of time 
under such stress as will accomplish them swiftly. The pur- 
pose is that the nature of the forces in human life shall be 
clearly seen, deeply emphasized, and profoundly appreciated. 
We feel the drive of the great forces in the tragedy by which 
the effects of years are wrought out in five days. The grave 
tone of the play is a resultant of all the fundamental tones of 
the composition. The changing tone-color, through the suc- 
cessive scenes, leaves upon the mind and heart the burden of 
tragedy. 

6. Primary Stress. — There is a wind of circumstance in 
every story like the wind in a field of grain, bending it one way, 
and the trend of events in every story centres the emphasis on 
three points which may be called the Incitement, the Climax, 
and the Catastrophe. 

The Incitement is the dramatic beginning, the point before 
which no story is probable, after which the story is inevitable. 
In “Kidnapped” the Incitement is the kidnapping of David on 


82 


the brig Covenant. It gives the name to the book. The Climax 
is the point of extreme complication. In the movement it is 
the crest of the wave, the height and the turning point of the 
action. It is the culmination of all that has preceded, the point 
of departure for all that follows; it is the centre of the com- 
position. The Climax in “Kidnapped” is the death of the Red 
Fox, turning the action towards the final resolution. The Ca- 
tastrophe is the dramatic end of the story. It is a technical 
term for the ending, whether it be happy or unhappy. In 
“Kidnapped” the Catastrophe is the escape across the Forth, 
after which the stress of the story is over. These three points 
in a narrative mark definitely its organic character and whole- 
ness, and these centres of emphasis constitute the primary 
stress. 

“Robinson Crusoe” 2 affords an interesting example of Pri- 
mary Stress. The Island locates and limits the story. The 
Incitement is the wreck that casts Crusoe upon the Island, and 
the story is well begun when he accepts his solitude thus, “Hav- 
ing now brought my mind a little to relish my condition, and 
given over looking out to sea, to see if I could spy a ship, — say, 
giving over these things, I began to apply myself to arrange 
my way of living, and to make things as easy to me as I could.” 
The Climax is the discovery of the footprint in the sand. In 
the paragraph that tells this the cumulative emotional influ- 
ences rise with sharp definiteness like the top of a wave, and 
fall in overwhelming depression. The massing of the words 
at the ends of sentences and principal clauses gives a clear 
dramatic outline rising to a remarkable climax. The words 
are these : — boat — sand — apparition — nothing — anything — one 
— that one — fancy — a foot — imagine — a man — thoughts by the 
way. The Catastrophe is where Crusoe leaves the Island. 
Every boy knows — irrespective of the second part — that when 
Crusoe goes away from his Island the story is ended. To the 
boy who reads it, the end has this touch of tragedy: it is as 
solemn as going away from home. 

‘Daniel Defoe (1661-1731). “Robinson Crusoe” was published in 

1719. 


83 


Primary Stress in the Short Story. 


Title. 

Words. 

Incitement . 3 

Climax . 3 

Catastrophe .* * 

“ Rip Van Winkle” 

6, 102 

5.2 

48.6 

IOO 

“ Ligeia ” 

6 , 407 

I 

47-5 

IOO 

“ Drowne’s Wooden Image ” . . 

4, 774 

I 

47.5 

98.5 

“ The Man Without a Country ” 

10, 568 

4-9 

47.9 

IOO 

“Circumstance” 

5,473 

6.2 

54-8 

99-7 

“ The Outcasts of Poker Flat” 

3, 993 

2.4 

50.5 

IOO 

“ Marse Chan ” 

9, 975 

5.7 

52.9 

IOO 

“ A Fisherman of Costla ” 

8,157 

5.9 

54.3 

99.5 


* Incitement, Climax , and Catastrophe are located by percentages cal- 
culated in the number of words from the beginning. 


Incitement. 

The Incitement is the initial organic interest of the composi- 
tion. It is the point where the Other-Self experiences the 
comfortable conviction that the story is begun. 

Rip Van Winkle 4 is epic in tone; it begins in a tranquil way 
approaching the incitement through a descriptive induction. 
The incitement is 317 words from the beginning in the phrase 
“a simple, good-natured fellow of the name of Rip Van 
Winkler 

“Ligeia” 5 is dramatic in tone ; it begins in an immediate 
effect, prepared for by a quotation stating the theme, u Who 
knoweth the mysteries of the will with its vigor?” and wrought 
out in the strange antithesis between infinite will and mortal 
limitation in the opening words, “I cannot.” 

“Drowne’s Wooden Image” 6 is epic in tone, and this epic 
quality is so pervasive that we are always conscious of the 
presence of the author, whose philosophical reflections are an 


4 Washington Irving in 1819 . 

* Edgar Allan Poe in 1839 . 

• Nathaniel Hawthorne in 1844 . 


8 4 


inseparable part of the story. The first sentence, presenting 
Drowne the Carver, is the incitement. 

“The Man Without a Country” 7 is epic in tone, and the story 
is approached through a narrative induction of 527 words. 
The incitement is the beginning of the story proper, “ Philip 
Nolan was as fine a young officer as there was in the Legion of 
the West 

“Circumstance” 8 is a dramatic story, having a significant en- 
velopment of circumstance. The incitement occurs 338 words 
from the beginning: “She distinctly saw in the air before her 
what was not there a moment ago , a winding-sheet — cold , 
white, and ghastly.” 

“The Outcasts of Poker Flat” 9 is dramatic in tone, with the 
incitement 96 words from the beginning in the appearance of 
Mr. Oakhurst : “ 7 reckon they’re after somebody / he re- 
flected; ‘ likely it’s me’ ” 

“Marse Chan” 10 is epic in tone. The story is told by an old 
negro, and the incitement finds expression 572 words from the 
beginning in the traveller’s inquiry, “ Who is Marse Chan?” 

“A Fisherman of Costla” 11 is epic. The incitement is 
reached 484 words from the beginning in the suggestion that 
Kilronan in the outer Arran Island could be reached with an 
off-shore wind and a sufficient motive: “ You’ll find Irishmen 
crazy enough to try almost anything — I mean if you can show 
’em a half -decent reason for it.” 

Climax. 

The Climax is the turning point of the story. It is the point 
of extreme complication, located near the middle of the story. 

In “Rip Van Winkle,” it centers in the phrase, “a deep sleep.” 

In “Ligeia” it centers in “ the weakness of his feeble will.” 

In “Drowne’s Wooden Image,” the climax is, “ And now so 
far as carving went, this wonderful production was complete.” 

In “The Man Without a Country,” the climax comes in 
Nolan’s action in the sea-fight and the Commodore’s com- 
mendation, “I thank you, sir; and I shall never forget this day, 
sir, and you never shall, sir.” 

In “Circumstance,” it is the experience of deep peace, 
“ Though He slay me yet will I trust in Him.” 

In “The Outcasts of Poker Flat,” it is the exclamation, 
“ Snowed in!” 


7 Edward Everett Hale in 1863. 

8 Harriet Prescott Spofford in 1863. 

9 Bret Harte in 1869. 

10 Thomas Nelson Page in 1884. 

“James B. Connolly in 1902. 


In “Marse Chan,” it is the story of the duel, culminating in, 
“I mek you a present to yo’ fam’ly, seh!” 

In “A Fisherman of Costla,” it is the moment of extreme 
peril in the little voyage when the fisherman says, “Give her a 
chance , give her a chance now .” 

Catastrophe. 

The Catastrophe is the organic close of the story where the 
action reaches its logical conclusion in a cadence of effect. 

In “Rip Van Winkle,” the catastrophe is reached in a reminis- 
cent mood, closing tranquilly in the last phrase — “ A quieting 
draught out of Rip Van Winkle’s flagon .” 

In “Tigeia,” the catastrophe is the last word, “L,igeia.” 

In “Drowne’s Wooden Image,” the catastrophe is 69 words 
from the end in the philosophical reflection, “Drowne was 
more consistent with himself when he wrought the admirable 
figure of the mysterious lady, than when he perpetrated a whole 
progeny of blockheads .” 

In “The Man Without a Country,” the catastrophe is the 
very end of the story, in the last wishes of Nolan written on a 
slip of paper and placed in his Bible where he had marked the 
text, “ They desire a country, even a heavenly; wherefore God 
is not ashamed to be called their God; for He hath prepared 
for them a city ;” and he asked for a stone with this inscrip- 
tion : “In Memory of Philip Nolan, Lieutenant in the Army of 
the United States. He loved his country as no other man has 
loved her; but no man deserved less at her hands.” 

In “Circumstance,” the catastrophe is 12 words from the 
end, in a revelation of the providence of God : “ Desolation and 
death were indeed there, and beneficence and life in the forest. 
Tomahawk and scalping-knife descending during that night, 
had left behind them only this work of their accomplished 
hatred and one subtle footprint in the snow.” 

In “The Outcasts of Poker Flat,” the catastrophe is reached 
in the cadence of the last sentence — “beneath the snow lay he 
who was at once the strongest and yet the weakest of the out- 
casts of Poker Flat.” 

In “Marse Chan,” the catastrophe is the very end. The 
story gains human interest and pathos in the love of the old 
negro who tells it. At the beginning we meet him with Marse 
Chan’s dog : at the end we hear him calling across the fence to 
his wife, “Judy, have Marse Chan’s dawg got home?” 

In “A Fisherman of Costla,” the catastrophe is 41 words 
from the end, in the fisherman’s prayer — the motive of the 


86 


story , — “to all poor childer may God be good,” and the gentle 
cadence sinks into comfortable influences and quietness. 

7. Secondary Stress. — The life of a story affects us in 
pulses of emphasis. There is a rhythm in the meaning that 
ebbs and surges in pulsation. This is the Secondary Stress. 
Stevenson says, “The threads of a story come from time to 
time together and make a picture in the web.” 12 

These pictures in the web are interest-pulses that we call 
effects. For purposes of study, effects may be classified in 
three groups — Plot-Effects, Character-Effects, and Thought- 
Effects. 

Plot-Effects develop a sense of design and organic quality 
in the action. Character-Effects are little pictures of person- 
ality, stirring sympathy and human interest in the touch of 
nature that makes the whole world kin. Thought-Effects are 
expository, stirring the reason with conceptions of truth. The 
soul is sensitive to radiations of truth, and the impressiveness 
of thought is conditioned by our conceptions of wisdom. 


Classification of Secondary Stress. 


Tranquillity. 


Plot-Effects. 


Cymbeline. 


Instability. 


Laud we the gods ; 

And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils 
From our blest altars. 

Cymbeline 5, 5, 476-478. 


Third Citizen. Let him be Caesar. 
Loneliness. 


Julius Caesar 3, 2, 56. 


Hamlet. Imperious Caesar, dead and turn’d to clay, 

Might stop a hole to keep the wind away : 

O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, 

Should patch a wall to expel the winter’s flaw ! 

Hamlet 5, 1, 236-239. 

Grandeur — quantitative greatness. 

Clarence. O, then began the tempest to my soul, 

Who pass’d, methought, the melancholy flood, 

With that grim ferryman which poets write of, 

Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 

King Richard III, 1, 4, 44-47. 

t 

“Robert Louis Stevenson (1845-1894), “A Gossip on Romance.” 


87 


Sublimity — qualitative greatness. 

Chorus. For forth he goes and visits all his host, 

Bids them good morrow with a modest smile, 

And calls them brothers, friends and countrymen. 

Upon his royal face there is no note 
How dread an army hath enrounded him; 

Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour 
Unto the weary and all-watched night, 

But freshly looks and over-bears attaint 
With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty: 

That every wretch, pining and pale before, 

Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks: 

A largess universal like the sun 
His liberal eye doth give to every one, 

Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all 
Behold, as may unworthiness define, 

A little touch of Harry in the night. 

King Henry V, 4, Prologue 32-47. 

Sensuousness — sensible forms of spirituality. 

Perdita. Reverend sirs, 

For you there’s rosemary and rue; these keep 
Seeming and savour all the winter long: 

Grace and remembrance be to you both. 

The Winter’s Tale 4, 4, 73-76. 

Accident. 

Friar John. I could »ot send it. 

Romeo and Juliet 5, 2, 14. 

Circumstance. 

Macbeth. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. 

Macbeth 1, 3, 38. 

Irony. 

Desdemona. O good Iago 

What shall I do to win my lord again? 

Othello 4, 2, 148. 

Intrigue. 

Falstaff. I am about thrift. 

The Merry Wives of Windsor 1, 3, 47. 

Suggestion. 

Iago. Ha! I like not that. 

Othello 3, 3, 35. 

Suspense. 

Bassanio. Let me choose; 

For as I am, I live upon the rack. 

The Merchant of Venice 3, 2, 24-25. 

Foreboding. 

Shylock. I am right loath torgo: 

There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, 

For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 

The Merchant of Venice 2, 5, 16-18. 


88 


Foreshadowing. 

YEgeon. And, which was strange, the one so like the other 
As could not be distinguished but by names. 

Comedy of Errors i, i, 5 2 "53- 

Prophecy. 

Don Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love. 

Much Ado About Nothing i, i, 249. 

Nemesis — visitation of retributive justice. 

Macbeth. Thou canst not say I did it : never shake 
Thy gory locks at me. 

Macbeth 3, 4, 50-51. 

Fate — appearance of the law of nature. 

Olivia. Fate, show thy force : ourselves we do not owe ; 

What is decreed must be, and be this so. 

Twelfth Night 1, 5, 329-330. 

Justice — vindication of Divine law. 

Malcolm. Macbeth 

Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above 
Put on their instruments. 

Macbeth 4, 3, 237-239. 

Providence — the personal beneficence of God. 

In one voyage 

Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis, 

And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife 
Where he himself was lost, Prospero his dukedom 
In a poor isle, and all of us ourselves 
When no man was his own. 

The Tempest 5, 1, 208-213. 

Contentment. 

Duke Senior. Sweet are the uses of adversity; 

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head: 

And this our life exempt from public haunt 
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones and good in everything. 

I would not change it. 

As You Like It 2, 1, 12-18. 

Adversity. 

Rosalind. O, how full of briers is this working-day world ! 

As You Like It 1, 3, 11-12. 

Pathos. 

Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters? 
and art thou come to this? 

King Lear 3, 4, 49-50. 

Wonder. 

Miranda. What is’t? a spirit? 

The Tempest 1, 2, 409. 

Awe. 

Hamlet. Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! 

Hamlet 1, 4, 39. 


Fear. 

Macbeth. Whence is that knocking? 

Macbeth 2, 2, 57. 

Tragedy. 

Othello. Put out the light, and then put out the light. 

Othello 5, 2, 7. 


Love. 


Character Effects. 


Posthumus. Hang there like fruit, my soul, 
Till the tree die! 


Joy. 


Cymbeline 5, 5, 263. 


Portia. O love, be moderate; allay thy ecstasy; 

In measure rain thy joy; scant this excess! 

I feel too much thy blessing : make it less, 

For fear I surfeit ! 

The Merchant of Venice 3, 2, 111-114. 


Patience. 


Katherine. Remember me 

In all humility unto his highness : 

Say his long trouble now is passing 

Out of this world; tell him, in death I bless’d him, 

For so I will. 

King Henry VIII 4, 2, 160-164. 


Kindness. 


Theseus. For never anything can be amiss 

When simpleness and duty tender it. 

A Midsummer Night’s Dream 5, 1, 82-83. 


Faithfulness. 

Kent. * * * you have that in your countenance which I would 
fain call master. 


King Lear 1, 4, 29-30. 


Meekness. 

Katharina. What is your will, sir, that you send for me? 

The Taming of the Shrew 5, 2, 100. 


Self-control. 

Brutus. Cassius, be constant 

Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes; 

For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. 

Julius Ccesar 3, 1, 22-24. 


Faith. 

King Henry. O God of battles ! steel my soldiers’ hearts. 

King Henry V 4, 1, 306. 


90 


Hope. 

Cleopatra. Yare, yare, good Iras ; quick. Methinks I hear 
Antony call ; I see him rouse himself 
To praise my noble act; I hear him mock 
The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men 
To excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come: 

Now to that name my courage prove my title! 

I am fire and air; my other elements 
I give to baser life. 

Antony and Cleopatra 5, 2, 286-293. 

Courage. 

King Henry. God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. 

King Henry V 4, 3, 23. 

Confidence. 


Hamlet. O good Horatio, I’ll take the ghost’s word for a thousand 
pound. 


Hamlet 3, 2, 297-298. 


Will. 


Petruchio. And, will you, nill you, I will marry you. 

The Taming of the Shrew 2, 1, 273. 

Decision. 


Brutus. O Rome, I make thee promise, 

If the redress will follow, thou receivest 
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus ! 

Julius C cesar 2, 1, 56-58. 

Self-assertion. 


Hamlet. 

Duty. 

Hamlet. 


This is I, 
Hamlet the Dane. 


Hamlet 5, 1, 280-281. 


How all occasions do inform against me. 

Hamlet 4, 4, 32. 

Dignity. 

King. I know thee not, old man : fall to thy prayers ; 

How ill white hairs become a fool and jester! 

I have long dream’ d of such a kind of man, 

So surfeit-swell’d, so old, and so profane; 

But, being awaked, I do despise my dream. 

. . King Henry IV, 5, 5, 51-55. 

Magnanimity. 

Antony. Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do it; 

Detain no jot, I charge thee: write to him — 

I will subscribe — gentle adieus and greetings; 

Say that I wish he never find more cause 
To change a master. O, my fortunes have 
Corrupted honest men! Dispatch. Enobarbus ! 

Antony and Cleopatra 4, 5, 12-17. 

Grace. 

Portia. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this 
great world. 

The Merchant of Venice 1, 2, 1-2. 


9i 


Sympathy. 

Portia. There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper, 
That steals the colour from Bassanio’s cheek. 

The Merchant of Venice 3, 2, 246-24 7. 

Friendship. 

Antonio. Try what my credit can in Venice do: 

That shall be rack’d even to the uttermost, 

To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 

The Merchant of Venice 1, I, 180-182. 

Patriotism. 

V olumnia. O, he is wounded; I thank the gods for 't. 

Coriolanus 2, 1, 133. 

Forgiveness. 

Valentine. Then I am paid; 

And once again I do receive thee honest. 

Who by repentance is not satisfied 

Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleased. 

By penitence the Eternal’s wrath’s appeased : 

And that my love may appear plain and free, 

All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. 

Two Gentlemen of Verona 5 , 4, 77-83. 

Submission. 

Katharina. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, 

And be it moon, or sun, or what you please: 

And if you please to call it a rush-candle, 

Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. 

The Taming of the Shrew 4, 5, 12-15. 

Renunciation. 

King Henry. What infinite heart’s-ease 

Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy! 

King Henry V, 4, i> 253-254. 

Sadness. 

Queen. (Scattering flowers) Sweets to the sweet: farewell! 

I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet’s wife. 

Hamlet 5, 1, 266-267. 

Grief. 

Malcolm. What, man ! ne’er pull your hat upon your brows ; 

Give sorrow words : the grief that does not speak 
Whispers the o’erfraught heart, and bids it break. 

Macbeth 4, 3, 208-210. 

Indignation. 

Juliet. Ancient damnation! 

Romeo and Juliet 3, 5, 235. 

Wilfulness. 

Cordelia. Nothing, my lord. 

King Lear I, 1, 89-91. 

Pride. 

Cleopatra. The man hath seen some majesty, and should know. 

Antony and Cleopatra 3, 3, 45. 


92 


Guilt. 

King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain below : 

Words without thoughts never to heaven go. 

Hamlet 3, 3, 97-98. 

Remorse. 


Macbeth. Wake Duncan with thy knocking ! 
Apathy. 


I would thou couldst ! 
Macbeth 2, 2, 74. 


Macbeth. 


Dejection. 


She should have died hereafter; 

There would have been a time for such a word. 
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 

To the last syllable of recorded time; 

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! 

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage 
And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 

Signifying nothing. 

Macbeth 5, 5, 17-28. 


Antonio. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 

Meetest for death : the weakest kind of fruit 
Drops earliest to the ground ; and so let me. 

The Merchant of Venice 4, 1, 114-116. 

Prejudice. 

Shy lock. How like a fawning publican he looks ! 

The Merchant of Venice 1, 3, 42. 

Antipathy. 

Shylock. To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else, it will feed 
my revenge. 

The Merchant of Venice 3, 1, 55-56. 

Hate. 


Iago. Work on, my medicine, work! 

Othello 4, 1, 46. 

Suspicion. 

Hamlet. Where’s your father? 

_ , Hamlet 3, 1, 133- 

jealousy. 

Cleopatra. The most infectious pestilence upon thee! 

Antony and Cleopatra 2, 5, 61. 

Envy. 

Cassius. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
Like a Colossus. 


Malice. 


Julius C cesar 1, 2, 135-136. 


Gloucester. Why, madam, have I offer’d love for this, 

To be so flouted in this royal presence? 

Who knows not that the noble duke is dead? 

King Richard III 2, 1, 77-79. 


93 


Hypocrisy. 

Gloucester. I do not know that Englishman alive 

With whom my soul is any jot at odds, 

More than the infant that is born to-night; 

I thank my God for my humility. 

King Richard III 2, 1, 69-72. 

Anger. 

Hotspur. Speak of Mortimer ! 

’Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul 
Want mercy, if I do not join with him. 

1 King Henry IV 1, 3, 130-132. 

Scorn. 

Coriolanus. Well, mildly be it then, mildly ! 

Coriolanus 3, 2, 145. 

Menace. 

Volumnia. I am hush’d until our city be a-fire, 

And then I’ll speak a little. 

Coriolanus 5, 3, 181-182. 

Avarice. 

Shylock. Thou stick’st a dagger in me : I shall never see my gold 
again : fourscore ducats at a sitting ! fourscore ducats ! 

The Merchant of Venice 3, 1, 115-117. 

Ambition. 

Gloucester. I’ll make my heaven to dream upon the crown. 

3 King Henry IV 3, 2, 168. 

Selfishness. 

Goneril. Pray you, let’s hit together: if our father carry authority 
with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of 
his will but offend us. 

King Lear 1, 1, 307-310. 


Philosophy. 


Thought-Effects. 


Hamlet. There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, 

Rough-hew them how we will. 

Hamlet 5, 2, 10-11. 


Goodness. 

Portia. How far that little candle throws his beams ! 

So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 

The Merchant of Venice 5, 1, 90-91. 

Satire. 

Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope in God for high words. 

Love's Labour's Lost 1, 1, 194. 


94 


Wit. 


Beatrice. 

Humor. 


How tartly that gentleman looks ! I never can see him 
but I am heart-burned an hour after. 

Much Ado About Nothing 2, 1, 3-5. 


Bottom. Let me play the lion too : I will roar, that I will do any 
man’s heart good to hear me ; I will roar, that I will make 
the duke say, ‘Let him roar again, let him roar again.’ 

A Midsummer Night’s Dream 1, 2, 72-7 5. 


8. Tone. — Tone in narration presents the interest of tone- 
intensity and tone-color. 

Tone-Intensity. Narrative is classified as Epic or Lyric or 
Dramatic. Some narratives are epic in tone. They possess an 
objectivity that removes them from personal influences. They 
are unhasting and tranquil, and have about them the dignified 
effects of time. Some narratives are lyric in tone. They are 
subjective and personal, expressing so ingenuously the words 
and feelings of the writer, that like lyrics, they are songs of the 
soul, and if we can sympathize with them we commune with 
them as with our own hearts, and such stories are as various as 
the personal experiences that give rise to them. Some narra- 
tives are dramatic in tone. The drama is a compound form of 
epic and lyric elements. It has the epic objectivity charged 
with the lyric spirit. The dramatic story thrills with personal 
influences. It is intense in quality and swift in action. So 
while the epic is a story of years, the drama is a story of days 
and hours. 

Tone-Color. As the artist mixes colors with white and gets 
tints, and mixes colors with colors and gets hues, and mixes 
colors with blacks and gets shades, so the artist in language 
mixes emotion with thought and gets tone-color. The funda- 
mental tones of a composition blend in a composite effect, and 
these tone-colors form a rainbow of tones ranging from the 
volatile lightness of comedy to the burden of tragedy. The 
tone-colors of the successive phases of a narrative constitute a 
significant interpretation of the story. The tone-color scale 
may be conveniently expressed in the following series : comic, 
light, neutral, serious, grave, tense, tragic. 

A graphic representation of tone-color may be made. Upon 
squared paper construct a chart of rectangular coordinates, 
with seven horizontal lines representing the series of seven 
tone-colors from tragic to comic reading downwards, and with 
vertical lines representing the successive effects of the second- 
ary stress. Estimate the tone-color of each effect, and mark 


95 


the intersection of the corresponding abscissa with the ordinate 
of the effect. Connect the effects so tabulated, making a line 
of tone-color for the composition. The secondary stress is the 
significant basis of the study of tone-color, because the suc- 
cessive effects, like pulse-beats, are the life-line of the story. 
The tone-color of the effects is the tone of the composition. 
A chart makes it possible to study comprehensively and in de- 
tail the background of the composition; such a chart shows 
very clearly the importance of this kind of emphasis and the 
relation of tone to plot. 

Dramatic literature, because of its intensity, affords striking 
examples of tone-color. In “As You Like It,” sixty-three per 
cent of the secondary stress is neutral and light, and thirteen 
per cent comic. The tone-color ranges from comic to serious 
with no effect above serious. In “Othello,” on the other hand, 
forty-two per cent of the secondary stress is tense with four- 
teen per cent tragic. The tone-color ranges from tragic to 
serious with no effect below serious. In “Antony and Cleo- 
patra” there is amplitude of tone sweeping clear across the 
scale from comic to tragic, centering in the zone of serious and 
tense and rising to tragic in five per cent of the effects. It is 
a wonderful play, with the tone-color of human interest as 
wide as the day and night of the world. In “Hamlet” eighty- 
two per cent of the secondary stress is neutral, serious, and 
grave; thirty-seven per cent of the tone-color centers in serious. 
The whole play is “sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought.” 

9. Character Treatment. — In so far as a narrative treats of 
men it embodies conceptions of character. The writer is like a 
scientist in his laboratory experimenting with the elements of 
character, combining and recombining, exhibiting life forces 
under different conditions. Characters in narration are con- 
ceived by the reason in accordance with objective reality, or 
created by the imagination in accordance with subjective ideals. 

The primary modes of character treatment are Realism and 
Idealism. Idealism portrays men in the light of what they 
may become ; realism portrays men as they are. Since no men 
are perfect, mere idealism would be lacking in human interest ; 
since all are imperfect, mere realism would be morally depress- 
ing. Literature is classified as idealistic or realistic, in accord- 
ance with the dominant quality. 

The secondary modes of character treatment are Static and 
Dynamic. The person whose character appears everywhere 
the same, unchanged throughout the story, is an example of 


96 


static treatment. The person whose character changes, under 
the stress of the experiences of the story, is an example of 
dynamic treatment. Static treatment includes all character 
portrayal where the motive of the composition does not involve 
growth and change. The characters in “The Last Days of 
Pompeii” are relatively static. Dynamic treatment includes all 
character portrayal where the motive of the story involves 
growth and change. The characters in David Copperfield are 
relatively dynamic. 

In Romeo and Juliet all the characters are static except the 
two principal persons. Romeo, who is a sentimental boy at 
the beginning, is a man of discipline and deep sentiment at the 
end. When in the tomb of the Capulets the boy Paris con- 
fronts him, it is as though Romeo meets his former self. They 
are of about the same age. Until five days before they had 
been much alike. But tragic experience has done the work of 
years for Romeo — and Paris is only a boy. Juliet at the be- 
ginning is a girl, scarcely more in the thought of the Capulets 
than a child. Her nurse remembers and talks of her child- 
hood. Love and anxiety and sorrow stir the depths of the girl’s 
nature, transforming the child of yesterday. There are stress 
points of change : in the last talk with her nurse, where the old 
woman advises her to marry Paris, the snapping of the bonds 
of confidence is in lines that crackle like dynamos. At the end, 
when Juliet wakes to find Friar Laurence, as he had said, she 
exclaims, “O comfortable friar.” In eighty hours of time the 
child has grown into the fulness of that experience which it is 
the purpose of life to attain — a character resting in love and 
consummated in self-control. 

io. Characteristics. — Two principles should be observed in 
assigning manners to persons. The first of these is Goodness, 
a recognition of moral distinctions and a requirement of moral 
idealism that persons be not unnecessarily bad. The second of 
these is Naturalness, a requirement that actions seem to be a 
spontaneous expression of personality; that they be assigned 
to persons appropriately ; that actions be consistent, expressing 
individuality; that the composition of forces in the cast of 
characters recognize the affinities and antipathies that condi- 
tion the relations of men, and the measure of outward circum- 
stance influencing their association. 

Goodness. There are just two classes of men — as the first 
Psalm says— the righteous and the ungodly. The fundamental 
distinction is a simple one and happily not difficult to see. 
Moral consciousness affirms, likewise, the truth of the Psalm — 


97 


“For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous, but the way 
of the ungodly shall perish.” 13 

Narration presents to the imagination pictures of the world 
and these pictures portray the two classes of men. They must 
be portrayed so that the fundamental moral distinction is clear 
and the proper effects of good and evil are in no way confused. 
We are in the realm of law and moral citizenship makes its de- 
mands upon us. I remember the impressiveness of an old sen- 
tence in Cicero: “Decrevit quondam Senatus, ut L. Opimius 
consul videret ne quid res publica detrimenti caperet.” 14 Dimly 
in imagination I have felt the presence of the consul; I have 
seen the fasces and the axes, and the blood-red battle flag of 
the Republic. A fine idealism has been fostered by the spirit 
of this old decree that the Republic suffer no injury. It is a 
little allegory easily transmuted into motive: the call of the 
Republic is the imperative of moral law. He who portrays the 
moral forces of the world projected in character and does not 
make it clear that he is for the Republic, is a common enemy 
of mankind. 

Evil for evil's sake has no place in literature. The plot may 
involve evil, as human life does, but the persons should not be 
unnecessarily bad. Characters should never affect the Other- 
Self in such a way as to occasion moral indecision or a confu- 
sion of moral values ; characters may deceive one another, but 
they must not deceive the reader. Morbid atmosphere is with- 
out moral propriety. Mixed moral values are immeasurably 
worse than mixed metaphors : mixed metaphors violate the im- 
agination that creates them, while mixed moral values violate 
the moral nature that underlies the imagination. A vicious 
person is never properly a subject of humor; a vicious thing is 
never funny. 

Henry Fielding wrote concerning the portrayal of vices as 
follows : 

“Great vices are the proper objects of our detestation, smaller faults 
of our pity: but affectation appears to me the only true source of the 
Ridiculous. 

“But perhaps it may be objected to me, that I have against my own 
rules introduced vices, and of a very black kind into this work. To 
this I shall answer: first, that it is very difficult to pursue a series of 
human actions and keep clear from them. Secondly, that the vices to 
be found here, are rather the accidental consequences of some human 
frailty, or foible, than causes habitually existing in the mind. Thirdly 


18 Psalms I. 

14 Marcus Tullius Cicero (B. C. 106-43), First Oration against Cati- 
line, II. 


98 

that they are never set forth as the objects of ridicule, but detestation. 
Fourthly, that they are never the principal figure at that time on the 
scene ; and lastly, they never produce the intended evil.” “ 

Naturalness. Within the seed of a plant is a miniature plant. 
The stem and the little leaves are there awaiting conditions 
that will make them grow. By experimenting you discover 
that the seed responds to light, heat, moisture, and air. The 
seed is alive and therefore has the power to grow; it has a 
material form requiring certain conditions in its environment. 
You study the seed until you know its nature ; then you treat it 
naturally, and this is all you can do for the seed. 

When you have conceived a character in narration, embody- 
ing some conception in a personal form, you must help it to 
grow by supplying the conditions and opportunities that favor 
natural growth and natural expression. Study the character 
you have conceived ‘Until you have an idea of its nature, and 
then do not dominate it but minister to it. A character is not 
a mechanism, but a person. 

The following passage, in which Thackeray talks about his 
characters, shows his relations with them. His genius is not 
less apparent in conceiving his characters than in knowing 
them thoroughly and serving them well. He whimsically con- 
fesses his bondage to them : they were real persons to him and 
they are real persons to us. 

“What an odd, pleasant, humorous, melancholy feeling it is to sit in 
the study, alone and quiet, now all these people are gone who have been 
boarding and lodging with me for twenty months ! They have inter- 
rupted my rest : they have plagued me at all sorts of minutes : they have 
thrust themselves upon me when I was ill, or wished to be idle, and I 
have growled out a ‘Be hanged to you, can’t you leave me alone now?’ 
Once or twice they have prevented my going out to dinner. Many and 
many a time they have prevented my coming home, because I knew they 
were there waiting in the study, and a plague take them ! and I have left 
home and family, and gone to dine at the Club and told nobody where I 
went. They have bored me, those people. They have plagued me at all 
sorts of uncomfortable hours. They have made such a disturbance in 
my mind and house, that sometimes I have hardly known what was go- 
ing on in my family, and scarcely have heard what my neighbor said to 
me. They have gone at last; and you would expect me to be at ease? 
Far from it. I should almost be glad if Woolcomb would walk in and 
talk to me; or Twysden reappear, take his place in that chair opposite 
me, and begin one of his tremendous stories. 

“Madmen, you know, see visions, hold conversations with, even draw 
the likeness of, people invisible to you and me. Is this making of 
people out of fancy madness? and are novel-writers at all entitled to 
strait-waistcoats? I often forget people’s names in life; and in my own 
stories contritely own that I make dreadful blunders regarding them; 


“Henry Fielding (1707-1754), “Joseph Andrews” (1742), Preface. 


99 


but I declare, my dear sir, with respect to the personages introduced 
into your humble servant’s fables, I know the people utterly — I know 
the sound of their voices.” 18 

Narration is a mode of the imagination, and a character in 
narration is an imaginary being. He is not a general concept, 
but an individual ; he can be seen with the eye of the imagina- 
tion, and heard with the ear of the imagination. And he can 
fill the thoughts of men. George Brandes, the Danish scholar, 
says : 

“Hamlet has given the name of Denmark a world-wide renown. Of 
all Danish men, there is only one who can be called famous on the 
largest scale; only one with whom the thoughts of men are forever 
busied in Europe, America, Australia, aye, even in Asia and Africa, 
wherever European culture has made its way; and this one never 
existed, at any rate in the form in which he has become known to the 
world. Denmark has produced several men wof note — Tycho Brahe, 
Thorvaldsen, and Hans Christian Andersen — but none of them has 
attained a hundredth part of Hamlet’s fame.” * 11 

Naturalness requires that the activities of each person shall 
make him seem one person — that every unit of activity shall be 
an element of character-synthesis. Consistency requires, also, 
that the activities of all the persons shall adequately explain 
their relations with one another, — that every unit of activity 
shall tend to strengthen the synthesis of the cast of characters. 

Inconsistency of character in real life gives an impression of 
weakness; in narration it gives an impression of unreality. In- 
consistency is therefore less tolerable in narration than in real 
life. It constantly happens that fact is stranger than fiction. 
In matters of fact inconsistencies are justified by an appeal to 
objective reality; in matters of imagination inconsistencies can- 
not be justified at all. 

The principle of naturalness applied to narration gives two 
fields of study: the first is the consistency of the individual; 
the second is the consistency of the cast of characters. 

The consistency of the individual is established in narration 
by everything in the action that relates to the individual — his 
acts, premeditated or unpremeditated; his words, careful or 
idle ; the consideration accorded him by all who are associated 
with him; and the author’s treatment of him. Narration is 
purely inductive in its processes ; it does not tell us what man- 
ner of person comes to us in the story, but it permits us in im- 

18 William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863), “De Finibus” in 
“Roundabout Papers.” 

11 George Brandes, “William Shakespeare,” vol. 2, p. 2. 


100 


agination to see him, to hear him, and to see him as others see 
him. So if the facts are consistent they will merge in a hy- 
pothesis, giving us a conception of personal character, which is 
our interpretation of the person. 

The consistency of the cast of characters is affected by all of 
those forces that explain the associations of the persons in the 
cast. Personal characteristics are the basis of associations ; 
personal interests develop personal relations. Affinities and 
antipathies, community and diversity of interest and aim, and 
the love that seeketh not its own explain the relations and the 
associations of people in actual life, and narration derives its 
power and impressiveness from the same forces. The principle 
of naturalness requires that all the facts about the persons shall 
adequately explain the relations of the cast, and as a whole give 
a satisfying sense of unity. 

ii. Thought-Interest. — With the spread of education, sci- 
ence and philosophy are the heritage of the people. It was 
long ago that the essay was invented to bring philosophy out of 
closets and make it current in coffee-houses. Since then narra- 
tion has come to include the whole range of mental activity — 
scientific, economic, political, social, aesthetic, psychological, 
ethical, religious. 

The thought-content of a narrative states and implies a phil- 
osophy of life. A writer cannot write sincerely and have many 
secrets. He expresses himself explicitly or implicitly and the 
thought-content always exceeds what the writer intended to 
say. 

The thought of a narrative is distributed as follows: the 
Theme , the Philosophy , the Motive, Personal Phases, and 
Spirituality. 

Theme. The theme is the seed-thought. It is the smallest 
form of the story; it is produced by preliminary thinking about 
the subject much as the seed is produced through the fruitage 
of the plant. The theme grows again into the story much as 
the seed grows into another plant. The theme is used by the 
Self as a guide in telling the story. It is immaterial whether 
the theme is definitely stated in the story or not, but it must 
exist as a definite proposition in the mind of the Self at the 
beginning, and in the mind of the Other-Self at the end. The 
theme is thus a selective principle and an organizing force ; it 
gives purpose to all the processes and consistency to all the ma- 
terials. The thought-interest of narration is initiated in the 


IOI 


theme, and the study of the thought-interest of a story begins, 
likewise, with a formulation of the theme. 

Philosophy. The thought-content of narration states and 
implies some theories of truth. All the forms of narration, 
epic or dramatic, whether in the purely objective narrative or 
the subjective forms of soliloquy, dialogue, conversation, are 
rendered mentally consistent by some underlying philosophy. 
Vistas of truth are here and there in the passing action; pro- 
jections of truth in sentence or phrase lift the thought-interest 
into high relief. 

God and the Works of God, known to us in matter and spirit 
and their relations, and the Will of God, known to us in natural 
and spiritual laws, constitute the vast conception that we call 
Truth. And every person is conscious of having some such 
conception which is his standard of truth. Narration is a mode 
of the imagination and its processes are like those of poetry. 
Forms of imagination appeal to individual experience through 
the power of suggestion, and the awakening responses of mem- 
ory make the narrative an individual and personal effect. The 
individual conception of truth is the personal standard with 
which all the philosophic effects are compared, and by which 
they are standardized. 

Motive. All the mental forces acting through the persons of 
the story to develop the plot constitute the scheme of motive. 
Human volition is influenced by impulsive powers that origi- 
nate in the physical organism, or the sensibilities, or the reason. 
So we recognize in narration appetites, desires, affections, and 
principles of reason, either singly or together, furnishing in- 
centives to the action. The strength or weakness of these 
various impulsive powers to determine the action differentiates 
persons and gives impressions of character. 

The mental forces in a story appear now and then in the 
forms of emphasis as character-effects. The theme and the 
philosophy reside in the thought alone; the motivation arises 
out of the effect of thought on personality. 

Personal Phases. There are compound phases of thought- 
interest consisting of elements of thought and personality 
merged in one effect. The nature of the effect is determined 
by the composition of the elements. These phases are many 
and various and they change with the varying ratio of the sub- 
jective and objective factors. Some of the most important 
phases of thought-interest are the following: 

Congenial relations of truth and the soul are experienced as 
Beauty. Sensible modes of beauty are experienced as Sen - 


102 


suousness. Strangeness in beauty is experienced as Pictur- 
esqueness. Quick perception of fine resemblance, with or 
without satire, is experienced as Wit. Pleasurable fellowship 
in perceiving incongruity is experienced as Humor. Domi- 
nant objectivity gives the thought-atmosphere of Realism. 
Dominant subjectivity gives the thought-atmosphere of Ro- 
manticism. 

Spirituality. The distinction between good and evil is the 
most important distinction. Spiritual values should be prop- 
erly estimated and not in any way confused. As narrative 
finds its interpretation in the heart and experience of a moral 
being it must enter within the shadow of the knowledge of 
good and evil, and that knowledge is the touchstone of moral 
distinctions. 

Thought-interest is studied best in rhetorical composition 
where it arises. Hawthorne’s “Drowne’s Wooden Image” is a 
good subject of study. It has epic quality; the dialogue pas- 
sages constitute but twenty-nine per cent, and even these 
passages have epic tranquillity; there is epic stateliness of con- 
ventional phrase and personal comment. The projections of 
thought-interest are never expository, explaining the story, but 
purely narrative suggested by the processes of the imagina- 
tion. At the end of the story the thought-interest crystallizes. 
“Drowne’s Wooden Image” illustrates thought-interest as fol- 
lows : 

Theme. “To our friend Drowne there came a brief season of excite- 
ment, kindled by love. It rendered him a genius for that one occasion, 
but, quenched in disappointment, left him again the mechanical carver 
in wood, without the power even of appreciating the work that his own 
hands had wrought.” 

Philosophy. * * * “in every human spirit there is imagination, 
sensibility, creative power, genius, which according to circumstances, 
may either be developed in this world, or shrouded in a mask of dul- 
ness until another state of being.” 

Motive. “To our friend Drowne there came a brief season of excite- 
ment, kindled by love.” 

Personal Phases. (Beauty) “ ‘No man’s work,’ replied Drowne. ‘The 
figure lies within that block of oak, and it is my business to find it.’ ” 

(Sensuousness) “Most persons at their first entrance, felt impelled 
to remove their hats.” 

(Picturesqueness) “He was about to withdraw when his eyes 
chanced to fall upon a half-developed figure which lay in a corner of 
the workshop, surrounded by scattered chips of oak. It arrested him at 
once. 


103 


“‘What is here? Who has done this?’ he broke out, after contem- 
plating it in speechless astonishment for an instant” 

(Wit) “ ‘My friend Drowne,’ said Copley, smiling to himself, but 
alluding to the mechanical and wooden cleverness that so invariably 
distinguished the images, ‘you are really a remarkable person! I have 
seldom met with a man in your line of business that could do so much; 
for one other touch might make this figure of General Wolfe, for in- 
stance, a breathing and intelligent human creature/ ” 

(Humor) “It must be confessed that a family likeness pervaded 
these respectable progeny of Drowne’s skill; that the benign counte- 
nance of the king resembled those of his subjects, and that Miss Peggy 
Hobart, the merchant’s daughter, bore a remarkable similitude to 
Britannia, Victory, and other ladies of the allegoric sisterhood; and, 
finally, that they all had a kind of wooden aspect, which proved an 
intimate relationship with the unshaped blocks of timber in the carver’s 
workshop.” 

(Realism) “There was a rumor in Boston, about this period, that a 
young Portuguese lady of rank, on some occasion of political or do- 
mestic disquietude, had fled from her home in Fayal and put herself 
under the protection of Captain Hunnewell, on board of whose vessel, 
and at whose residence, she was sheltered until a change of affairs. 
This fair stranger must have been the original of Drowne’s Wooden 
Image.” 

(Romanticism) “As Copley departed, happening to glance backward 
from the threshold, he beheld Drowne bending over the half -created 
shape, and stretching forth his arms as if he would have embraced and 
drawn it to his heart; while, had such a miracle been possible, his 
countenance expressed passion enough to communicate warmth and 
sensibility to the lifeless oak.” 

Spirituality. “Yet who can doubt that the very highest state to which 
a human spirit can attain, in its loftiest aspirations, is its truest and 
most natural state, and that Drowne was more consistent with himself 
when he wrought the admirable figure of the mysterious lady, than 
when he perpetrated a whole progeny of blockheads.” 

12. Elements and Qualities of Style. — Personal forces make 
narration. Only spiritual discernment can know and tell the 
meaning of things latent in the material out of which narrative 
is made. The writer who tells the story has a continuing vision 
that makes him the servant of the story, and his diction the 
medium through which the story seems to tell itself. There is 
the problem of finding a story; there is the problem of how to 
tell the story; there is also the problem of the details of the 
story. The composition of the story is a work of fine art, and 
the thing that makes it fine is the comprehension, the interpre- 
tation and the style of the writer himself. “A poet or cre- 
ator/' says Ruskin, “is therefore a person who puts things 
together, not as a watchmaker steel, or a shoemaker leather* 
but who puts life into them” 18 


“Ruskin (1819-1899), “Modern Painters,” 8, 1, 20. 


io4 


Finding the Story. The writer of a narrative should have a 
clear view of it. Any one who has gathered materials for the 
treatment of a theme knows in experience how the materials 
are gathered somewhat blindly, without any clear conception 
of the outcome. In the study of the theme there comes a time 
when all the unrelated facts flash into one consistent whole. 
Without effort the writer can see his story complete, and al- 
though it is yet unwritten, he is conscious of the power within 
himself to write it. Such vision of a narrative the writer must 
have. He should see the perfect mechanical adjustment of all 
the parts of the plot working into one design. He should know 
his characters so that he feels the innate necessity of their 
actions in all the circumstances of the plot. Vision should be 
real, and the achievement of such vision will be of varying 
difficulty in different treatments. Stevenson wrote “Treasure 
Island” without conscious difficulty: it is a story initiated in 
plot. In “The Merry Men” he wrote with the greatest diffi- 
culty : it is initiated in atmosphere. The contrast in the origin 
of the two stories will doubtless explain the relative difficulty 
in treatment. Whether hard or easy, it is the writer’s task to 
see that the vision is achieved. 

Stories originate in plot, or in character, or in atmosphere. 
Stevenson said, 

“There are so far as I know three ways and three ways only < 5 f writ- 
ing a story. You may take a plot and fit characters to it, or you may 
take a character and choose incidents and situations to develop it, or 
lastly — you must bear with me while I try to make this clear — you may 
take a certain atmosphere and get action and persons to express and 
realize it.” 19 

The world is an interesting place to one who has his senses 
and uses them.* Action is all about us, the combinations now 
and then forming “pictures in the web.” Faces are passing 
before us, faces like a gallery of pictures, and some of these 
have the wistihilness of unwritten stories, and there are atmos- 
pheres where the light comes through storied windows, and the 
very places cry out for characters and plots. 

“The Last Days of Pompeii” is a story initiated in plot. Its 
motivation is the destruction of the city. The Sherlock Holmes 
stories originated in the character of Sherlock Holmes. “Kid- 
napped” originated in atmosphere. The high seas and the 
wild highlands breathe stories. Stevenson’s “The Merry Men” 
originated also in atmosphere. He called it “a fantastic sonata 
about the sea and wrecks.” Again he said of “The Merry 


” Balfour, “Life of Stevenson,” vol. 2, p. 160. 


io5 

Men,” “There I began with the feeling of one of those islands 
on the west coast of Scotland, and I gradually developed the 
story to express the sentiment with which that coast affected 
me.” Poe’s favorite method was to begin his stories in atmos- 
phere. 

Find the stories in the daily papers, on the thoroughfares, 
in the street cars ; look for the faces in the crowd, in assem- 
blies, in the stores; have an eye for the incidents that reveal 
stories. The latency of stories in all human life is relatively 
vast, amid the multitude of books.* There is no lack of stories. 
The world is full of stories and only a few of them are told. 
To see them is the first thing, and the eye and heart may be 
trained to see and feel the stories hidden in daily experience. 

Method of the Story. Imagination gives dramatic quality 
to all narration. As we read we hear the sound of a voice. 
Now the voice may be that of the author, in which case we 
are once removed from the action and only occasionally do 
we hear voices of the action in direct quotation ; or the voice 
may be that of one of the actors, in which case we participate 
directly in the action. When the author keeps between the 
story and the reader he makes the reader a listener only, and 
this gives the story an epic tone. The author's point of view 
is fundamentally epic. When the author suppresses himself, 
admitting the reader directly to the action, he gives the story 
dramatic tone. When an actor tells the story the reader sees 
the stage and identifies himself with the action. The actor's 
point of view is fundamentally dramatic. 

Two forms of the author’s point of view are illustrated 
greatly in fiction : The first is with the author emphasized as 
in “Tom Jones” and “Vanity Fair.” In “Vanity Fair” only 
twenty-eight per cent of the composition is colloquy. There is 
a great dignity in this manner when it is worthily sustained. 
Fielding and Thackeray illustrate it at its best. The second 
form is with the author minimized as in “Pride and Preju- 
dice,” in which sixty-two per cent of the composition is collo- 
quy. This is the characteristic manner of Jane Austen. The 
Thackeray manner emphasizes epic tone; the Jane Austen 
manner by much colloquy and little comment develops dra- 
matic tone. 

The actor’s point of view may be that of any one of the 
persons of the story or of several persons. Many great novels 
have been written from the point of view of the principal 
actor — “Robinson Crusoe,” “Jane Eyre,” “Henry Esmond,” 
“David Copperfield,” “Lorna Doone.” Different points of 
view have been presented through letters ; this was a favorite 


io6 


eighteenth century mode used by Samuel Richardson in 
“Pamela,” “Clarissa Harlowe,” and “Sir Charles Grandison,” 
and by Miss Burney in “Evelina.” 

Details of the Story. The problem of selection of details is 
most important in narration. Out of the thousand things avail- 
able the narrator chooses a few, guided in selection by some 
principle of association derived from his conception of the 
meaning of the story. The details of a story are all significant, 
for their selection is not chance medley but serviceableness in 
promoting the effect. 

This principle of selection is important in plot, in character, 
and atmosphere. Fifteen per cent of the words in the first 
paragraph of “The Fall of the House of Usher” 20 are words 
of melancholy depression. They are chosen and massed with 
view to fixing the tone of the story. 

In all narration the tendency is to concentrate effects, to re- 
duce the elements and intensify the qualities of expression. 
Detailed character portrayal does not appear in the new books. 
By effects and suggestive implications the character is pre- 
sented to the imagination, and this requires of the writer 
artistic powers of selection of the highest order. A story so 
written has the power of a multitude of unwritten things be- 
hind written words. It requires much real life to make a little 
good narration. To find a few things that will give the mean- 
ing of the whole is the problem of details. 

Life. Style has a personal phase. The imagination that has 
found, and gathered, and arranged all this material has given 
it life and left it an organism. The composition has gained 
from the imagination “the harmony or helpfulness of life, and 
the passion or emotion of life.” 21 

The narrative is written in a book, and here is an interesting 
phase of the problem of expression: so long as the book is 
closed there is no expression, for only three elements are 
there — the Word, the Thought, and the Self; but some day 
come the Occasion and the Other-Self, and this “passionate 
harmony” of imaginative composition flashes into vital influ- 
ence, and the power of a living creature, vested in the words, 
has achieved expression. 

In “The East Days of Pompeii” the thing that is wonderful 
is not the splendid vision of Pompeii but the fact that there is 
a vision in this entanglement of words. Here is a composition 
of pages upon pages of words, ^ and in the midst of them a 

20 Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849). 

““Modern Painters,” 8, 1, 20. 


io7 


vision of an ancient city, bright frescoes, sparkling fountains, 
splashes of red in the Tyrian robes of the people, glimpses of 
sea and shore, and the green slopes of the mountain shaded 
with olive groves, and in the restless city the burden of an old 
prophecy, the spending of money for that which is not bread 
and of labor for that which satisfieth not. And out of the 
midst of it like a rill of water in the desert, the story of Glau- 
cus and lone, who lived and loved under the shadow of Vesu- 
vius. And the book permanently holds and gives away the 
wonders it contains. This is the thing that is truly wonderful — 
how strong imagination summons from the past long- forgotten 
peoples and old places, the towers, the palaces, the temples, the 
ancient habitations of men, and how these spirits “from the 
vasty deep,” find in a book new dwelling-places of pomp, and 
circumstance, and imaginative splendor. This is the fascination 
of a narrative, a vision that rises and dissolves again, leaving 
not a rack behind. It is a mystery of life ; it lives as we breathe 
upon it. It is a mystery of death, dying as we leave it, until 
life shall make it live again. 

13. Theory of the Short Story. — The Short Story is like the 
sonnet in rendering an impression in a single wave. 

“Totality of effect, ” to use Poe’s phrase, is the sum of abso- 
lute requirement in the short story. For a story to give such 
effect it must be limited to about ten thousand words ; it must 
tell but one story; it must center but one thought-interest; it 
must have but one tone ; it must have such a concentration of 
emphasis that all of its stress shall constitute one emphasis ; it 
must have one movement without pause and without digres- 
sion, swift, inexorable. And all of these simple unities are so 
to harmonize as tq give “totality of effect.” 

In the year i8$0, Edgar Allan Poe, reviewing the work of 
Nathaniel Hawthorne, wrote the following concerning the 
prose tale : 

“The tale proper, in my opinion, affords unquestionably the fairest 
field for the exercise of the loftiest talent which can be afforded by the 
wide domains of mere prose.” 

* * * * * * *• * 

“Were I called upon, however, to designate that class of composition 
which, next to such a poem as I have suggested, should best fulfil the 
demands of high genius — should offer it the most advantageous field of 
exertion— I should unhesitatingly speak of the prose tale as Mr. Haw- 
thorne has here exemplified it. I * allude to the short prose narrative, 
requiring from a half-hour to one or two hours in its perusal. The 
ordinary novel is objectionable from its length, for reasons already 


io8 


stated in substance. As it cannot be read at one sitting, it deprives 
itself, of course, of the immense force derivable from totality. Worldly 
interests intervening during the pauses of perusal, modify, annul, or 
counteract, in a greater or less degree, the impressions of the book. 
But simple cessation in reading would, of itself, be sufficient to destroy 
the true unity. In the brief tale, however, the author is enabled to 
carry out the fulness of his intention, be it what it may. During the 
hour of perusal the soul of the reader is at the writer’s control. There 
are no external or extrinsic influences — resulting from weariness or 
interruption. 

“A skilful literary artist has constructed a tale. If wise, he has not 
fashioned his thoughts to accommodate his incidents ; but having con- 
ceived, with deliberate care, a certain unique or single effect to be 
wrought out, he then invents such incidents — he then combines such 
events as may best aid him in establishing this preconceived effect. If 
his very initial sentence tend not to the outbringing of this effect, then 
he has failed in his first step. In the whole composition there should 
be no word written, of which the tendency, direct or indirect, is not to 
the one preestablished design. And by such means, with such care and 
skill, a picture is at length painted which leaves in the mind of him who 
contemplates it with a kindred art, a sense of the fullest satisfaction. 
The idea of the tale has been presented unblemished, because undis- 
turbed ; and this is an end unattainable by the novel. Undue brevity is 
just as exceptionable here as in the poem; but undue length is yet more 
to be avoided.” 

The short story expresses American temperament and Amer- 
ican conditions. There is the surge of deep assertion pro- 
foundly stirred; the story is a single wave but it is a thousand 
fathoms deep ; repression surges in written words with myriad 
forces of all the unwritten things. American life has devel- 
oped for itself the monthly magazine, and this is the natural 
setting of the short story. The magazine is both a cause and 
an effect; it arose out of new social conditions, and through 
the short story it confirms these conditions. But the short story 
is not new : it is very old. The Book of Ruth and the Book 
of Esther are perfect short stories. 

The Book of Esther has a simple plot with one wave of nar- 
rative interest, rising, culminating, and falling in elemental 
totality of effect. The number of words is 5,890 ; the primary 
stress locating the beginning, middle, and end of the story in 
percentages reckoned from the first word is as follows : 


Per cent. 

Incitement: “And he brought up Hadassah, that is, Esther” 

Climax: “The king held out to Esther the golden sceptre”.... 
Catastrophe : “The commandment of Esther confirmed these 
matters of Purim” 


98.2 


109 

It has “totality of effect.” The story of the origin of the 
Feast of Purim centers in the person of Esther, whose Hebrew 
name was of the myrtle trees — a comforting reminder of the 
prophet Zechariah’s first vision of the Divine government of 
the world. 22 The story is perfect in simple spiritual unity that 
may be expressed in this : 

“Behold, he that keepeth Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.” 23 

14. The Novel. — The Novel shows as in a glass a little pic- 
ture of the world. It is a microcosm of human life. A com- 
prehensive view of life shows complexities like the pattern of 
a great tapestry, and the novel is an imitation of life created 
by the imagination and portrayed with epic objectivity and ful- 
ness. Fielding’s 24 “Tom Jones” is remarkable for its elaborate 
and ideal plot; it comprises ati least twelve distinct stories. 
Scott’s “Waverley” has sixty-five characters. Each of the six 
principal characters has ten drawn in the background with 
more or less particularity, to afford depth and tone to the char- 
acter-setting. 

Here and there through his novels Henry Fielding turned 
aside from the story to discuss his art. He says, — 

“As I am in reality the founder of a new province of writing, so I 
am at liberty to make what laws I please therein.” 

His “bill of fare” is simple but sufficiently comprehensive, 

“The provision then which we have here made is no other than 
Human Nature ” 

The following precepts on the art of novel-writing are gath- 
ered from “Tom Jones” : 

“When any extraordinary scene presents itself (as we trust will often 
be the case), we shall spare no pains nor paper to open it at large to 
our reader; but if whole years should pass without producing anything 
worthy his notice, we shall not be afraid of a chasm in our history; but 
shall hasten on to matters of consequence, and leave such periods of 
time totally unobserved.” 

* * * * * * * 

“Truth distinguishes our writings from those idle romances which 
are filled with monsters, the productions, not of nature, but of distem- 
pered brains.” 

******* 


22 Zechariah 1, 8-1 1. 

Psalms 121, 4. 

84 Henry Fielding (1707-1754). 


no 


“I think it may very reasonably be required of every writer that he 
keeps within the bounds of possibility; and still remembers that what it 
is not possible for man to perform, it is scarce possible for man to 
believe he did perform.” 

******* 

“Nor is possibility alone sufficient to justify us; we must keep like- 
wise within the rules of probability.” 

******* 

“The only supernatural agents which can in any manner be allowed 
to us moderns are ghosts; but of these I would advise an author to be 
extremely sparing” 

******* 

“Man, therefore, is the highest subject (unless on very extraordinary 
occasions indeed) which presents itself to the pen of our historian, or 
of our poet ” 

******* 

“To say the truth if the historian will confine himself to what really 
happened, and utterly reject any circumstance, which, though never so 
well attested, he must be well assured is false, he will sometimes fall 
into the marvelous, but never into the incredible.” 

* *** * * * * 

“The actions should be such as may not only be within the compass 
of human agency, and which human agents may probably be supposed 
to do; but they should be likely for the very acts and characters them- 
selves to have performed; for what may be only wonderful and sur- 
prising in one man, may become improbable, or indeed impossible, when 
related of another. 

“This last requisite is what the dramatic critics call conservation of 
character; and it requires a very extraordinary degree of judgment, 
and a most exact knowledge of human nature.” 

******* 
“Within these few restrictions, I think, every writer may be per- 
mitted to deal as much in the wonderful as he pleases ; nay if he thus 
keeps within the rules of credibility, the more he can surprise the reader, 
the more he will engage his attention, and the more he will charm him.” 

Four qualifications Fielding considers necessary for the 
novelist — genius , learning, experience, a good heart . He com- 
ments on these as follows : 

“The first is genius, without a rich vein of which, no study, says 
Horace, can avail us. By genius I would understand that power, or 
rather those, powers of the mind, which are capable of penetrating into 
all things within our reach and knowledge, and of distinguishing their 
essential differences. These are no other than invention and judgment; 
and they are both called by the collective name of genius, as they are of 
those gifts of nature which we bring into the world. * * * by inven- 
tion is really meant no more, (and so the word signifies) than dis- 
covery, or finding out; or to explain it at large, a quick and sagacious 
penetration into the true essence of all the objects of our contemplation. 
This, I think, can rarely exist without the concomitancy of judgment: 


Ill 


for how we can be said to have discovered the true essence of two 
things, without discerning their difference, seems to me hard to con- 
ceive; now this last is the undisputed province of judgment, * * * 
* * * * * * * 

* * * “tools are of no service to a workman, when they are not 
sharpened by art, or when he wants rules to direct him in his work, or 
hath no matter to work upon. All these uses are supplied by learning; 
for nature can only furnish us with capacity, or, as I have chosen to 
illustrate it, with the tools of our profession; learning must fit them for 
use, must direct them in it; and lastly, must contribute part at least of 
the materials.” 

“Again there is another sort of knowledge beyond the power of 
learning to bestow, and this is to be had by conversation. So .necessary 
is this to the understanding the characters of men, that none are more 
ignorant of them than those learned pedants whose lives have been 
entirely consumed in colleges and among books : for however exqui- 
sitely human nature may have been described by writers, the true prac- 
tical system can only be learnt in the world.” 

♦ * 3|C 3|C * * * 

“Now this conversation in our historian must be universal, that is, 
with all ranks and degrees of men : for the knowledge of what is called 
high-life, will not instruct him in low. * * * Besides, to say the 
truth, the manners of our historian will be improved by both these cor- 
roborations u for in the one he will easily find examples of plainness, 
honesty, and sincerity; in the other of refinement, elegance, and a 
liberality of spirit ; which last quality I myself have scarce ever seen in 
men of low birth and education.” 

* * * * * He * 

“Nor will all the qualities I have hitherto given my historian avail 
him, unless he have what is generally meant by a good heart, and be 
capable of feeling. The author who will make me weep, says Horace, 
must first weep himself. In reality, no man can paint a distress well 
which he doth not feel while he is painting it; nor do I doubt but that 
the most pathetic and affecting scenes have been with tears.” 

Fielding invokes to direct his pen first , Genius, the “gift of 
heaven” ; second, Learning, without which genius can produce 
“nothing pure, nothing correct” ; third, Experience, conversant 
with every kind of character; and fourth, Humanity, “almost 
the constant attendant on true genius,” bringing all “tender 
sensations.” 


CHAPTER V, 


DESCRIPTION. 


i. Description. — Description is a personal expression 
through language of the relations of objects in space. These 
relations of objects in space may be used, also, by the imagina- 
tion, to suggest characteristics and mental states. 

There is fundamental likeness between narration and de- 
scription. They are objectively alike, in that they deal with 
sense-perceptions and with the relations of things rather than 
with things themselves. They are subjectively alike, in that 
they present not a flat replica of the thing but a virtual inter- 
pretation of it; you not only see the thing but you know how 
the writer feels about it. This is done not through the reason, 
as in exposition, but through the imagination ; for both narra- 
tion and description appeal to the imagination. Narration and 
description are both modes of the imagination. Impressions 
of time and space are very closely interwoven, and almost all 
composition dealing with sense-perception is a composite of 
these two modes. Events always involve a setting, and the 
description of a scene rarely eliminates events. Pictures be- 
come stories through an ordered succession of movement, as 
appears in the narrative effects of moving pictures; this is 
essentially the relation between description and narration. The 
dominant mode determines the classification. 

Narration and description are unlike in that narration pre- 
sents an action, description presents a picture. Although both 
deal in a central way with substantives, the distinctive part of 
speech in narration is the verb, in description it is the adjective. 
Thomas Hughes writes in “Tom Brown at Oxford,” “The 
starting ropes drop from the coxwain’s hands, the oars flash 
into the water, and gleam on the feather, the spray flies from 
them, and the boats leap forward.” This is narration and the 
action moves on the verbs, drop, dash, gleam, dies, leap. Rus- 
kin, writing of an English cathedral, describes “the great 
mouldering wall of rugged sculpture and confused arcades, 
shattered, and grey, and grisly with heads of dragons and 
mocking fiends, worn by rain and swirling winds into yet un- 
seemlier shape, and colored on their stony scales by the deep 
russet-orange lichen, melancholy gold.” This is description 

(ii 2) 


and the picture is filled out for us by the adjectives — epithets 
all of them — mouldering , rugged, confused, shattered, grey, 
grisly, mocking, swirling, stony, russet-orange, melancholy 
gold. 

In a narrative of a summer cruise the following passage is 
description. The effect of it in memory is not a story, but a 
scene : 

The Sweetheart lay in the Cove north of the town and there was a 
storm in the night from the northeast The wind awakened us with 
the fierce music from the deep strings of the woods and the minors of 
the sea, the thrilling of the surf, the thin strings of the reed grass of 
the marshes, and the treble of the desert reaches, and, like a theme of 
shrill melody, the moaning of the rigging. The pale shadow of the boat 
and the tenseness of the mooring lines were a mute appeal for the heavy 
cable. As it took the strain we rested in the strength of it. I remem- 
ber the wild music of the wind sweeping the land and the sea, the low- 
flying clouds and the night — not black, but the battle-color of the ships 
in the Spanish War. 

The same problems of composition present themselves in de- 
scription and narration. Description requires only such special 
consideration as the change from an action to a picture would 
necessitate. The field of study is shown in the following topics : 
Vision, Point of View, Selection, and Things as They Are. 

2. Vision. — First, is the problem of vision. In narration it 
is the finding of the story — to see a story in experience, 
whether in plot, or character, or atmosphere. In description 
it is the seeing of a picture — the writer has to cultivate an eye 
for the picturesque. Not all the things that the camera takes 
are pictures in a literary sense. The things of the senses ap- 1 
peal to the imagination, and it is the imagination that finds 
stories and sees pictures. The image-making faculty sees, in 
the midst of the thousand things that fill the view, a picture 
composed of many of these things merged into one, like the 
face hidden in a puzzle picture, or the large letters on a map — 
hard to see, or the large sign — inconspicuous for the very scope 
of it. 

The power to see the picturesque may be cultivated through 
the humanizing influences of liberal education, and through 
some attention to the nature of the problem. By selection and 
grouping the picturesque thing becomes visible. The selective 
principle is in the soul itself, for beauty is a genial relation of 
truth and personality, and the Self instinctively seeks its own in 


U 4 

the midst of the field of view. When we find the congenial 
thing flashing into consciousness, or slowly rising like the sun, 
we like it and are satisfied with it. Arising as it does out of a 
personal relationship, the picturesque thing is its own evidence. 

In truth and in personality alike there is a realm of the 
unknown, and from beyond the finite horizon of human knowl- 
edge transcendent influences enter into the picturesque, making 
it strange and mystical. The beauty of the world we do not 
see is added to the beauty of the world we see. The composite 
light of two worlds is the twilight beauty that we call pic- 
turesque. 

Ruskin’s description of Europe, as seen by the bird in migra- 
tion, is a splendid vision. The corridors of the mind supply us 
through memory with unwritten visions, and the world has 
many goodly prospects, waiting for description. 

The subject of the vision is not always material. It is some- 
times a mental state. There are frequent descriptive passages 
in literature giving through figurative quality a vision of human 
experience. 

A vision of the very souls of a company, professedly in char- 
ity with one another, is given in a single line of “King Richard 
III.” Richard, Duke of Gloucester, enters and he mentions, 
as though it were well known, the death of Clarence. In the 
interval that follows, Buckingham says, 

“Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?” 1 

The hollow mockery of the reconciliation scene is shown in the 
single word “pale,” that figuratively describes the mental states 
of these men. 

Ben Jonson described Lord Bacon in a tribute of love, and 
the effect upon the feelings is proof that it is not exposition 
addressed to the reason, but description addressed to the imagi- 
nation : 

“Yet there happened in my time one noble speaker who was full of 
gravity in his speaking; his language (where he could spare or pass 
by a jest) was nobly censorious. No man ever spoke more neatly, more 
pressly, more weightily, or suffered less emptiness, less idleness, in what 
he uttered. No member of his speech but consisted of his own graces. 
His hearers could not cough, or look aside from him, without loss. He 
commanded where he spoke, and had his judges angry and pleased at 
his devotion. No man had their affections more in his power. The 
fear of every man that heard him was lest he should make an end. 

* * * * * * * 


1 “King Richard III,” 2, 1, 83. 



4 


Il 5 

“My conceit of his person was never increased toward him by his 
place or honours; but I have and do reverence him for the greatness 
that was only proper to himself, in that he seemed to me ever, by his 
work, one of the greatest men, and most worthy of admiration, that had 
been in many ages. In his adversity I ever prayed that God would give 
him strength; for greatness he could not want. Neither could I con- 
dole in a word or syllable for him, as knowing no accident could do 
harm to virtue, but rather help to make it manifest.” 3 

3. Point of View. — Second, is the problem of the point of 
view. This is a question of direction and distance, and the 
motive in the vision determines the direction and distance for 
the portrayal of the picture. The secret of effectiveness is in 
the ability to perceive synthetic stress. Single objects stir a 
sense of relationship with other objects from which they de- 
rive impressiveness. The single object is a luminous arc giving 
the curve of a circle. So a large letter on a map sets us to 
looking for the name. Find the name, complete the circle, see 
the picture in the field of view. It will usually be found that 
the object first seen is the thing of personal interest most im- 
portant, like the keystone of an arch, or like a theme in music. 
What the writer sees first is usually the object that makes the 
picture his own and, therefore, the object that makes a literary 
description possible. 

In description we seek to produce in the imagination the 
effect of a view. We may analyze a scene actually before the 
eye, and whatever is important to the eye will be important in 
composition. The eye fixes itself Upon an object from a certain 
point of view ; and if the point of view changes, the appearance 
of the object also changes. We must fix the point of view and 
maintain it ; or if it be a changing point of view the character 
and rate of change must be clearly shown. All theories about 
the point of view should be verified by studies in standard lit- 
erature. It is not enough that the Self see the picturesque 
thing: the problem is to compose the description so that the 
Other-Self will see it. Imaginative words develop a picture 
in the imagination. The successive words should fill out the 
same picture, or some consistent and anticipated succession of 
pictures, so that the effect will be clear and distinct — one pic- 
ture or many, but nothing mixed or confused. •• 

The point of view once taken determines not only the angle 
of vision and a consistent view, but the scale of the picture as 
well. Distance, as well as direction, is important, because dis- 
tance fixes the scale. As distance increases minor objects fade 

3 Ben Jonson (1573-1637), “Discoveries Made upon Men and Matter.” 


f 


ii 6 

out of view; with near approach the details of the picture be- 
come clear. 

In “Adam Bede/’ a landscape is described, as seen by a 
traveller, from the saddle, stationed near the village green. 
The limitations of the point of view are recognized in the fol- 
lowing passages : 

“Visibly specked with sheep, whose motion was only revealed by 
memory, not detected by sight.” * * * “the swelling slope of meadow 
would not let our traveller see them from the village green.” * * * 

“He might have seen other beauties in the landscape if he had turned a 
little in his saddle.” 8 

Effect depends on point of view quite as much as on the ob- 
ject itself. The motive in composition comes into practical 
relation, at this point, with the mechanism. Keeping clearly in 
mind the effect, study the object from different points of view 
until you discover the point that gives the effect. 

The White House presents very different effects from Lafay- 
ette Square and from the Sherman Statue. The City of Wash- 
ington is one thing from the top of the Monument, from which 
point of view the converging avenues visibly center on the 
Capitol and the White House, and it is another thing from the 
river with the city along the sky line, and in the midst of it 
the Washington Monument and the dome of the Capitol. This 
is the strategy of description. Everything that is, has its own 
organic life ; go round about it, and at last you will find some 
point of view from which it becomes a living thing. The 
Psalmist says, 

“Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, is Mount Zion, 
on the sides of the north, the city of the great King.” 

******* 

“Walk about Zion, and go round about her : tell the towers thereof.” 

“Mark ye well her bulwarks, consider her palaces ; that ye may tell it 
to the generation following.” 4 

4. Selection. — Third, is the problem of selection. A few 
things do the work . Interesting pictures are made with a few 
strokes of the brush or pencil. The key to this problem is the 
fact that description is an appeal to the' imagination. Use the 
elements that the imagination needs and you have the picture. 

“George Eliot (1820-1881), “Adam Bede,” ch. 2. 

“Psalms 48, 2, 12-13. 


ii7 


Hallam Tennyson relates that Joachim the violinist had been 
playing to his father the splendid music of Hungarian dances, 
and then the poet read to the musician “The Revenge.” After 
the line, 

“And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the 
summer sea,” 

he asked, “Could you do that on your violin?” — the peace of 
nature after the thunder of battle . 5 

In remembered scenes time has been a winnowing influence — 
the chaff and husks are gone, the vital things remain. Remem- 
bered scenes are good subjects for practice. Write these scenes 
as you remember them, and see how time has solved the prob- 
lem of selection. Time will spare a few things. I have written 
down a memory of thirty years ago : 

The east end of Long Island is a crescent fronting the northeast. 
The south horn of it reaching out into the Atlantic is Montauk Point; 
the north horn of it is Orient Point looking out on the tidal frenzy of 
Plum Gut. Within the arms of the crescent is Gardiner’s Island un- 
marred and undisturbed by civilization, with a drift of tradition touch- 
ing Captain Kidd, and a sky line of woods and quietness. The enclosed 
waters are Gardiner’s Bay, and the untraversed reaches inside of Mon- 
tauk, frequented only by warships in seasons of target practice and by 
fishermen. Lonely fishing grounds are these between the waste lands 
and the open sea, just outside the world where you make your ranges, 
overhaul your ground tackle, and anchor for a fare of fish while the 
weather lets you stay. And the schooners that come and go through the 
Race and Plum Gut never come any nearer, and after dark their side 
lights, green and red, show a little in the distance, and on the northern 
horizon twinkle the lights of New England. 

The Estelle rolls a little at her anchor; the wind has veered into the 
east with a savor of sea-room in the saltness of it, and the rigging 
moans softly. A few stars are out. Low down on the horizon for 
three-fourths of the circle there are deep shadows of the land, the rest 
is the vastness of the open sea. The ebb tide in its strength swings the 
vessel and the cable holds her fast. Tense as a bar of steel the cable 
stretches down into the water shining with phosphorescence like crusted 
gold. Fathoms deep it shines through the black tide pouring by. And 
sleep comes comfortably to the rolling of the vessel and the vision of a 
shining anchor line. 

In “Sentimental Tommy” there is a description consisting of 
thirty-five words in two sentences. It is the letter that Tommy 
wrote for Meggy Duff to her daughter in Ireland. It is merely 
a suggestion to the imagination, but it is complete : 


•“Alfred Tennyson: A Memoir,” vol. 2, p. 233. 


n8 


“It is interesting to know what Tommy wrote. The general opinion 
was that his letter must have been a triumph of eloquent appeal, and 
indeed he had first sketched out several masterpieces, all of some length 
and in different styles, but on the whole not unlike the concoctions of 
Meggy’s former secretary; that is, he had dwelt on the duties of 
daughters, on the hardness of the times, on the certainty that if 
Katherine helped this time assistance would never be needed again. 
This sort of thing had always satisfied the Dominie, but Tommy, despite 
his several attempts, had a vague consciousness that there was some- 
thing second-rate about them, and he tapped on his brain till it re- 
sponded. The letter he despatched to Ireland, but had the wisdom not 
to read aloud even to Meggy, contained nothing save her own words, 
‘Dear Kaytherine, if you dinna send ten shillings immediately, your 
puir auld mother will have neither house nor hame. I’m crying to you 
for’t, Kaytherine; hearken and you’ll hear my cry across the cauldriff 
sea.’ It was a call from the heart which transported Katherine to 
Thrums in a second of time, she seemed to see her mother again, grown 
frail since last they met — and so all was well for Meggy. Tommy did 
not put all this to himself but he felt it, and after that he could not have 
written the letter differently. Happy Tommy! To be an artist is a 
great thing, but to be an artist and not know it is the most glorious 
plight in the world.” 8 

It is the function of words either to inform or to suggest ; 
they inform by addressing the reason, and they suggest by ad- 
dressing the imagination. When they inform they utilize the 
processes of reasoning for imparting knowledge; when they 
suggest they stir the creative faculty of the imagination into 
action, and the Other-Self responds to suggestion through the 
mental laws of association calling up out of experience corre-. 
sponding images. The details of the suggested pictures of the 
imagination are supplied by the Other-Self in the sensuous 
images of the objects themselves. It is not necessary to de- 
scribe the picture when the imagination has created it. The 
Self cannot suggest and then inform without weakening the 
picture and undoing the creation of the imagination. If it is 
beautiful the Other-Self wants to see it beautiful; he doesn’t 
want to be told that it is beautiful. 

Description is a significant selection of details — a few things 
out of many, chosen because they suggest much. Few things 
are named, but these few are rallying points for a multitude of 
things in the imagination. Study the picture until you have 
learned what things possess this magic power of attraction. 

Nothing can take the place of practice, and practice should 
not be scattered. Have some paragraph on a congenial theme 
to which you may return and return again; beginning new 
themes should not prevent the finishing of old ones. Daily 

8 J. M. Barrie, “Sentimental Tommy,” ch. 35. 


themes will lead to superficiality if they cause the abandonment 
of a piece of writing on the threshold of serviceableness. 

Have a sketch-book for studies in description drawn from 
personal experience, and you will find that practice will not be 
tedious and composition will need no other incentive than your 
own interest. 

From a little book that grew in this way the following para- 
graphs are taken. The first is a dream of the ships of Mystic : 
five hundred in a hundred years, the fortunes of three wars, 
the coastwise and deep-sea voyaging, the unwritten stories, and 
the wistfulness of sea-faring. 

At dusk they came in from the sea; one by one they came up the 
river, silently on the flood tide with the last breath of the evening wind. 
In, the deepening gloom they warped to their places, side by side at the 
mouldering wharves where long ago they had fitted out for sea. And 
the shadow of the ships grew until it seemed to overreach the river. 
And then, from somewhere in the night, there came a hail that all the 
ships were in. All the ships were in — from all oceans, and all seas : the 
whale-ships and the clipper-ships, the old-time packets, and the fishing- 
smacks, the coasters and the yachts, the steamships large and small, 
the transports and the warships; out of the sea depths, out of battle 
smoke, out of ice and storm, out of oblivion — all the ships were in. 
And the shadow of the ships was heavy on the river, and it oppressed 
me with the weight of years. Then the moon rose, and it was crossed 
and barred with masts and yards, and the edge of the sky was set with 
funnels and fretted with innumerable spars. 

The second description concerns a summer cruise in a boat. 
The specified objects are elemental memories. 

The Sweetheart was anchored in Bostwick Bay on the northwest shore 
of Gardiner’s Island. It is but a bend in the shore, and a squall from 
the northwest would make it a hard place. The darkness came, and the 
cheery light within the cabin was a little touch of home in the night. 
The day had been long and sometimes anxious, with clouds banked in 
the north while we sailed up against the wind and the ebb tide, between 
Montauk and the Race, where the Ocean meets the Sound. As the; 
night drew on the air was still; now and then, in the wake of a flying 
shadow, there fell the cry of a night-heron. The stars were overhead;, 
a tremulous white band from the searchlight of a warship, somewhere- 
up the Bay, spread out across the sky ; in the northwest, over the Con- 
necticut shore, there were low rumblings of thunder and far-off light- 
nings. But these were like sights and sounds in dreams. So the night 
passed unnoted, except when a sea-swell, like a noise between two 
silences, came down with the tide and set the boat to rolling at her 
anchor. 

With the light came the cries of innumerable birds sweeping all up 
and down the shore, then dying away into a deep morning silence. 
From the cabin companionway the sea for miles and miles without the 
stirring of a breeze, lay white and shimmering. The low sun, shining. 


120 


just over the woods, was brightening the gray water in the bay. To the 
south a grass-covered bluff lay glowing in the light, and along its base 
huge tawny bowlders stood in the water. Outside of these were set the 
fykes of fishermen, and on the poles were great still hawks watching 
for fish. A morning freshness, partly of the land and partly of the sea, 
was in all the air; and something primeval was in the breath of it — the 
trackless water and the fearless birds and the dark woods of a thousand 
years ago. 

5. Things as They Are. — Fourth, is the influence of the 
ideal. The imagination gives the writer a vision and he is at- 
tended by it. It is as clear as an architect’s plan; it is his 
model, and as he works this spiritual reality is a selective 
energy among the elements of expression, choosing and ar- 
ranging words that will give a clear and true view. It is the 
writer’s work to be faithful to the thing that he sees and to 
give a true view of it, and he will be satisfied by nothing less 
than this. Such writing has little to do with whims and fan- 
cies; it cannot deteriorate into “fine writing.” It cannot be 
arbitrary at all. It is a view of things as they are, and the 
sense of obligation that comes with such writing gives moral 
dignity to it, and he who works in the light of such vision, and 
experiences the quickening influence of all creative work is not 
likely to be diverted from writing things as they are. For 
there is joy in the bond between the Vision and the Work. 
Kipling says : 

“But each for the joy of the working, and each in his separate star, 
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They 
are !” 7 

The final problem is a distribution of emphasis, so that each 
element shall show the best that is in it. The writing of de- 
scription is like the hanging of a picture: the light that falls 
upon it, seems to develop light within it ; and beauty shines out 
of it as through a window of the unseen world. 

T Kipling, “When Earth’s Last Picture is Painted,” “Collected Verse.” 

i>. 131. 


CHAPTER VI. 


EXPOSITION. 


i. Things That Are Not Seen. — Exposition is a rhetorical 
mode of prose expressing the metaphysical aspects of things 
and relations. The distinctive word in the definition is “meta- 
physical/’ meaning the aspect that is beyond the physical — the 
inward nature of things and relations. While narration and 
description are modes of imagination expressing things in the 
physical aspects of time and space, exposition is a mode of 
reason expressing things in the metaphysical aspects essen- 
tially timeless and spaceless. This does not limit the subjects 
of exposition. All subjects may be expressed in metaphysical 
aspects, and so may be treated in an expository way. The 
modes of style do not deal with separate and distinct cate- 
gories of things; they are modes of treatment that may be 
applied to the whole realm of experience. 

Exposition is a mode of pure intelligence. It is a product 
of the reason, and is therefore essential prose. It is abstract, 
and is therefore unmixed with the finite things of time and 
space. Exposition is the dominant mode and the main cur- 
rent of all that is written and spoken and this emphasizes the 
infinite nature of man, “for the things which are seen are 
temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal .” 1 

Exposition is the immediate language of study. It is the 
plain language of silent thought, devoid of sensuousness, ap- 
pealing neither to the ear of the mind nor to the eye of the 
mind. Exposition is a force, like the winds that blow over 
the earth, but it is not heard; it is energy, like the light that 
shines between the worlds, but it is not seen. Like chemic 
force, it is apprehended in the substance it explains. 

Exposition is rhetorical because it is a personal interpreta- 
tion of the meaning of things. Truth and reason are the ele- 
ments in a composition of forces that is characterized by the 
distinctive effects of style. The five factors in rhetorical ex- 
pression are the Self, the Other-Self, the occasion, the word; 
the thought. In exposition the chief emphasis is on the 
thought ; and the meaning of the thought as the Self interprets 
it is self-expression. 


*2 Corinthians, 4, 18. 

(121) 


122 


Thinking is the subject-matter of rhetoric. The term thought 
is used to designate the whole body of mental processes to 
which, through the word, we seek to give appropriate personal 
expression. Sense-perception is the thought of a, particular 
thing actually present to the senses. A mental image is the 
thought of a particular thing not present to the senses. A 
concept is the thought of the universal content of a class of 
things, being a general notion of the attributes common to 
all the particular things in the clas$. Thus, a child sees one 
tree after another, each presenting a different appearance, yet 
all called by one name. At length while observation is pre- 
senting individual trees there rises in his consciousness the 
abstract and generalized concept tree. This exists in the mind 
having no sensuous aspect of size or color or form, but having 
as its content the attributes common to all individual trees. 

Reasoning is based on a recognition of relations. The child 
who says “Because,” is on the threshold of reasoning. Reason- 
ing is a process of constructive thinking by which mental ob- 
ject is added to mental object, through the recognition of some 
relationship between the objects. 

The thinker is the builder of a mental world with a widen- 
ing outlook towards universality, and the more clearly he sees 
the universal, the more definitely he knows the particular. 
The functions, powers, and nature of an object indicate the 
relations, of that object. As the relations become clear the 
content of the object grows definite. So it is that through the 
circle of natural relations we come to the organic thought of 
nature as a whole ; through the circle of personal relations we 
come to the organic thought of Self as a permanent unity; 
through the circle of spiritual relations entering into expe- 
rience, we come to the organic thought of God. These are 
visions of substantive truth ; they arise in the process of think- 
ing, shining like stars in the firmament. 

Wordsworth described the growth of his own mind in stu- 
dent days at Cambridge, when through perception and reason- 
ing he sought community with highest truth in the natural and 
spiritual world : 

“As if awakened, summoned, roused, constrained, 

I looked for universal things; perused 
The common countenance of earth and sky: 

Earth, nowhere unembellished by some trace 
Of that first Paradise whence man was driven; 

And sky, whose beauty and bounty are expressed 
By the proud name she bears — the name of Heaven. 

I called on both to teach me what they might; 

Or turning the mind in upon herself, 

Pored, watched, expected, listened, spread my thoughts 
And spread them with a wider creeping; felt 


123 


Incumbencies more awful, visitings 
Of the Upholder of the tranquil soul, 
That tolerates the indignities of Time, 
And, from the centre of Eternity 
All finite motions everruling, lives 
In glory immutable.” 2 * 


Here is one of the secrets of composition which we need to 
understand : 


“To know 

Rather consists in opening out a way 
Whence the imprisoned splendor may escape, 
Than in effecting entry for a light 
Supposed to be without” 8 


Exposition deals with the things of the unseen universe — • 
ubiquitous, infinite, eternal, — the things that have neither be- 
ginning nor ending, the things that were not born and do not 
die. 


2. Abstract Thinking. — Abstract thinking is full of diffi- 
culty. Thought is incarnate: this is the order of the world — 
soul and body, and every form of life its own body after its 
kind. Poetry is natural, because it is thought embodied in sen- 
suous forms; narration and description are natural: these are 
modes of thought to which the influences of nature have accus- 
tomed us, and thought so clothed is genial and pleasant. But 
abstract thinking is hard. Emerson says, — 

“What is the hardest task in the world? To think. I would put 
myself in the attitude to look in the eye an abstract truth, and I can- 
not. I blench and withdraw on this side and on that.” 4 

Incarnation is the law of the world : death is transition to 
new life, change is a phenomenon of evolution ; abstract think- 
ing is the mode of progress to higher applications of thought. 
Abstract thinking will not stay by itself. Sheer personal force 
may impel it through an abstract trajectory, but it tends to 
return to concrete conclusions. Abstract thinking is not an 
end in itself but a means to an end. 

There are two forms of reality known to us — immortal mind 
and indestructible matter. There is a vision of these in “In 
Memoriam” : 

“And what I am beheld again 
What is, and no man understands; 

And out of darkness came the hands 
That reach thro’ nature, moulding men.” 5 


* “The Prelude,” 3, 105-121. 

8 Robert Browning (1812-1889), “Paracelsus.* 

4 Essay on “Intellect.” 

*“In Memoriam,” 124, 6. 


124 


Experience affirms the mutual relations of “what I am' 1 and 
“ what is,” and that progress tends to perfect these relations. 
The poet’s vision derives its dignity from eternal relations: 

“And all at once it seem’d at last. 

The living soul was flash’d on mine, 

And mine in this was wound, and whirl’d 
About empyreal heights of thought, 

And came on that which is and caught 
The deep pulsations of the world 
Aeonian music measuring out 
The steps of Time — the shocks of Chance — 

The blows of Death.” 6 

“ That which is” and the “deep pulsations of the world” are 
forms and phenomena of matter. 

“When I consider thy heavens, 

The work of thy fingers, 

The moon and the stars, which 
thou hast ordained; 

What is man, that thou art 
mindful of him? 

******* 

Thou makest him to have dominion 
over the works of thy hands.” 1 

And yet matter which is subject to reason, and which is 
wrought into the monuments of civilization, eludes a final 
analysis. The mystery of the flower in the crannied wall was 
still a mystery to Tennyson in his old age when he said, — 

“Matter is a greater mystery than mind. What such a thing as a 
spirit is apart from God and man I have never been able to conceive. 
Spirit seems to me to be the reality of the world.” 8 

One clear thought concerning these two forms of reality is 
expressed by Browning, — 

“Mind is not matter nor from matter, but 

Above.” * 

Ambition is the responsiveness of the soul to the Divine 
gift of authority and dominion. To subdue the earth and 
possess it is instinctive. Hence comes the spirit of wander- 
ing, hence loneliness and restlessness, and the longing for 
knowledge, hence far vistas of thought and the readiness and 
courage for all high emprise. 


6 Ibid., 95. 

T “The Psalms,” 8, 3-6. 

‘“Alfred Lord Tennyson: A Memoir,” vol. 2, p. 424. 
‘“The Ring and the Book,” 10, 1348-1349. 


125 


To know involves a process of abstraction. In reasoning 
we proceed from specific object to specific object by means of 
a conceived relationship between the objects. This relation- 
ship is pure abstraction. Specific objects of thought are set 
like islands in the sea of abstraction. 

There is strangeness and infinite incentive in abstraction. 
Every living soul stands facing this vastness and must venture 
upon it, if he wish to explore the mystery of matter and know 
at all the other coast of the sea. The forces of intellection, 
and some ancient heritage of unrest make us adventurers and 
explorers in abstraction. Wordsworth wrote the following 
lines concerning this abstract world of pure intelligence: 

“Mighty is the charm 
Of those abstractions to a mind beset 
With images and' haunted by herself, 

And specially delightful unto me 
Was that clear synthesis built up aloft 
So gracefully; even then when it appeared 
Not more than a mere plaything, or a toy 
To sense embodied : not the thing it is 
In verity, an independent world, 

Created out of pure intelligence” 10 

3. Discipline. — Mr. Kipling tells of “The Ship That Eound 
Herself.” It is an allegory of awakening. You may apply it 
to intellectual life. She was a little cargo steamer of two 
thousand five hundred tons, and she was new, and her skipper 
said of her, “She’s all here, but the parts of her have not 
learned to work together yet. They’ve had no chance.” 

And the little steamer put out to sea, and a short while after 
she had cleared the Irish coast a sullen, gray-headed old wave 
of the Atlantic climbed leisurely over the bow and sat down on 
the steam capstan, and the capstan sputtered through the teeth 
of his cogs, and then the deck beams complained of the cap- 
stan, and the stringers felt the strain and complained to the 
deck beams, and then an echoing rumble came from the 
frames, and a thousand little rivets whispered together. And 
this was the first of many waves, and all the voices of the 
little ship rose in complaining — each at variance with his 
neighbor. 

Then the little wave-swept steamer pitched and rolled and 
had a hard time of it. “You don’t mean to say there’s any one 
except us on the sea in such weather?” said the funnel, in a 
husky snuffle. 

“Scores of ’em,” said the steam, clearing its throat. 

And then an unexpected thing happened. 


10 “The Prelude,’’ 0, 158-167. 


126 


“We have made a most amazing discovery,” said the 
stringers, one after another ; “a discovery that entirely changes 
the situation. We have found for the first time in the history 
of shipbuilding, that the inward pull of the deck beams and 
the outward thrust of the frames locks us, at it were, more 
closely in our places, and enables us to endure a strain which 
is entirely without parallel in the records of marine archi- 
tecture.” 

The steam turned a laugh quickly into a roar up the fog- 
horn. “What massive intellects you great stringers have,” he 
said softly, when he had finished. 

And so the story tells how the complainings ceased, and how 
at last, all the talking melted into one deep voice, which was 
the soul of the ship. 

Thinking subjects us to the conflicting influences of truth 
and error. He would be but a poor sailor who should put 
to sea without chart or compass. There can be no discipline, 
and no character, without principles. Emerson says finely, 
“Nothing can give you peace but the triumph of principles .” 11 

“Certainly, it is heaven upon earth,” says Lord Bacon, “to 
have a man's mind move in charity, rest in providence, and 
turn upon the poles of truth .” 12 

It is important in exposition both for the Self and the Other- 
Self that intellectual life be disciplined to habits of efficiency. 
If thought is to turn upon the poles of truth, thinking must 
be clear, and strong, and free. 

Clearness. Clearness is the prime quality of good exposi- 
tion. To understand and to explain are universal needs ; the 
composition that ministers to such needs must explain things 
so that they cannot be misunderstood. The ideal of clearness 
can be realized only by strict observance of the three principles 
of structure — unity, coherence, and emphasis. All of these 
conduce to clearness, and without these there cannot be good 
exposition. 

We begin with the individual object; this is the port to the 
open sea of abstract thinking. The individual object we should 
know clearly, distinctly, adequately; and this requires acute 
senses, trained observation, and an alert, inquiring mind. Like 
a point of departure for the ship that sails away from port, 
the individual object is the basis of reckoning, and, therefore, 
it should be determined with the greatest accuracy. 

The point of departure in the intellectual life is sense-per- 
ception. Through the senses the world appeals to us ; the five 


11 Essay on “Self-Reliance.” 
32 Essay on “Truth.” 


127 


senses are avenues of information ; through them we perceive : 
we see, hear, smell, taste and touch. It is desirable that the 
senses should report things as they are; it is our concern, 
therefore, to secure a true eye, a sensitive ear, a keen scent, 
a discriminating taste, and a delicate touch. Why do we go 
to the animal and the savage for ideals of sense-perception? 
We speak of an eagle eye, of the keen scent of the hound, of 
the quick ear of the savage. It is not necessary that the senses 
become dulled as the mind becomes quickened. There is some- 
thing wrong when the power of sense-perception in men and 
women is in inverse ratio to their learning. The field of the 
five senses is the preliminary training-ground of the intellect- 
ual life. 

The mind is full of ideas, and these should be clear, well- 
focused, free from obscurity, sharply defined. 

Education does not thrive in twilight effects; every concept 
should be so clear that it cannot be misunderstood. Develop 
a passion for clear thinking. Study pure mathematics and, 
chiefly, because it is “pure,” dealing with systems of relations, 
abstract and not applied. Study fine distinctions of syntax, 
and rejoice in them because they are fine. 

When strength of thought fails, feeble brain energy, in 
contact with things, becomes a sort of mental fog that has a 
certain semblance to thought. There are those who live in 
such a fog. We should seek to live in clear intellectual light. 
It is necessary that we see clearly. We would look up into 
such a sky as the astronomers love, when the stars set in the 
deep blue shine undimmed like living fire. Analyze all sub- 
jects of study, and persist in such analysis. Analyze for your- 
self, that you may have clear ideas, and analyze for the Other- 
Self that you may impart ideas clearly. It is as pernicious 
and unmannerly to leave an idea half apprehended, and vaguely 
understood, as it is to leave any other piece of work half done; 
to talk obscurely is only one degree more mannerly than to 
break off in the midst of a sentence and turn abruptly away. 
A few clear ideas are better than any fog of thought, even 
though it were vast enough to cover the Grand Banks. 

Strength. Strength is personal, and strength alone will 
sustain thought. Thinking is a mode of motion, and the prime 
mover is the Self. The suspense of the periodic structure at- 
taches in some measure to all thinking. Thought, like the 
aeroplanes — heavier than air, is sustained by the drive of the 
motors. 


128 


Personal strength alone can commission forth half of the 
soul upon a pilgrimage, as Jrowning says, 

“O’er old unwandered waste ways of the world.” 13 

In 1837, when Emerson delivered his famous Phi Beta 
Kappa oration at Harvard, 14 it was important to say that the 
American scholar should be Man Thinking, and not a parrot 
of other men’s thinking. There is a time in the intellectual 
life when the student puts away childish things and seeks to 
do man’s work. 

The publication of Percy’s 15 “Reliques of Ancient English 
Poetry,” in 1765, was an important event in a revival of in- 
tellectual life. 

When intellectual activities had become divorced from living 
interests, and literary men through superficiality had become 
tiresome to one another, so that all writing was satirical and 
cynical, then it was that intellectual quickening came from folk- 
lore ballads — songs of the people, projecting real influences 
into literature. 

Do not lose the meaning of this. Thinking that is not an 
expression of living — the experiences of daily living — is dead. 
Thinking is but one phenomenon in a series ; living is before 
it, living follows it. Thinking zvithout living is dead. 

In the eighteenth century, thought became superficial and 
it lost relation with living. In the twentieth century living is 
strenuous and in danger of losing relation with thinking. What 
is to save this activity from being merely sounding brass? 
‘‘Charity never faileth.” Man Thinking will really care for 
his fellow men, for the world, for all truth. Through this 
bond the thinker will renew his strength in the power that can 
>>not fail to come from actual relation with real forces. 

Observe your own thinking and you will see its vital rela- 
tion with the things that happen to you daily. Living and 
thinking are inseparable, and it is a fundamental discipline to 
develop them in proper mutual relation. In such a relation 
the thinker will not lack subjects or incentives; it will not be 
hard to think, and the joy of all right living will diffuse itself 
through thinking, and the thinker will renew his strength. 

The basis of all thinking is not faint-heartedness, or dis- 
couragement, or any form of weakness, but a quickening of 
the mind into consciousness of strength and latent, infinite 
powers. Plear “a whistle from the Spartan fife!” This is 
Emerson’s call : 


18 “The Ring and the Book,” 1, 744. 

14 “The American Scholar.” Oliver Wendell Holmes called this “Our 
Intellectual Declaration of Independence.” 

“Thomas Percy (1729-1801). 


129 


“Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string” 

“To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in 
your private heart is true for all men — that is genius.” 

“A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which 
flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firma- 
ment of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, 
because it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our own re- 
jected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty” 

“I will so trust that what is deep is holy, that I will do strongly be- 
fore the sun and moon whatever truly rejoices me and the heart 
appoints.” 16 

Thinking is conflict. It is an aggressive movement against 
a multitude of obstructive influences. It has a definite object- 
ive, the attainment of which develops the soldier spirit. I have 
found a parable of thinking in a paragraph telling how the 
troops took San Juan Hill : 

“They had no glittering bayonets, they were not massed in regular 
array. There were a few men in advance, bunched together, and creep- 
ing up a steep, sunny hill, the tops o.f which roared and flashed with 
flame. The men held their guns pressed across their breasts and 
stepped heavily as they climbed. Behind these first few, spreading out 
like a fan, were single lines of men, slipping and scrambling in the 
smooth grass, moving forward with difficulty, as though they were 
wading waist high through water, moving slowly, carefully, with stren- 
uous effort. It was much more wonderful than any swinging charge 
could have been. They walked to greet death at every step, many of 
them, as they advanced, sinking suddenly, or pitching forward and dis- 
appearing in the high grass, but the others waded on, stubbornly, form- 
ing a thin blue line that kept creeping higher and higher up the hill. 
It was as inevitable as the rising tide. When it had reached the half- 
way point, and we saw they would succeed, the sight gave us such a 
thrill as can never stir us again. It was a miracle of self-sacrifice, a 
triumph of bull-dog courage, which one watched breathless with won- 
der.” 17 

Freedom. The thinker should be free. Authority, conven- 
tionality, conformity, consistency, embarrass and limit and 
fetter the thinker, until like Lemuel Gulliver in the toils of the 
little folks, he is helplessly bound. 

Authority is both good and bad, and it should be accepted 
with discrimination. Concerning the scope and limits of au- 
thority, Lord Bacon says, 

“A man who is learning must he content to believe what he is told, 
yet it must be coupled with this, When he has learned it he must 
exercise his own judgment and see whether it be worthy of belief.” 18 


“Essay on “Self-Reliance.” 

17 Richard Harding Davis, “The Cuban and Porto Rican Campaigns,” 
p. 2 18. New York, Scribners, 1898. 

18 “Advancement of Learning,” 1. 


130 


Conventionality is agreement among people who have much 
in common, but when it extends its influence beyond these 
communal bounds to the suppression of individuality, it tends 
to slavery and should be disregarded. Emerson says, “I ap- 
peal from your customs, I must be myself .” 19 

Conformity to truth is the only wise conformity. Browning 
writes, 

* * * “there’s nothing in nor out o’ the world 
Good except truth.” 20 

Education is the development of individuality. Plants grow 
through such a relation to nature that the natural forces have 
free course through them ; this relation is the fulfilment of the 
law. Persons grow through such a relation to environment 
that natural and spiritual forces have free course through 
them. These forces are the forces of truth, conformity to 
which will make us free. 

Consistency is a jewel only when it is standardized by truth. 
In a world of imperfect things, all comparisons should be with 
perfect standards, for we desire to outgrow imperfection, and 
to grow into the truth. We must be free from the servitude 
of things. Truth is the universal standard : we shall not com- 
pare one thing with another, but everything with truth. '£o' 
the consistency of actions will be guaranteed by apprehension 
of truth. And when I see things as they are and express * 
things as I see them, these things that agree with trutji jwill 
agree with each other. Meanwhile I shall seek truth, and take 
no anxious thought for consistency. 

The spirit of this freedom is well expressed, by Emerson, in 
the following : 

“Is it not the chief disgrace in the world not to be a unit, not to be 
reckoned one character, not to yield that peculiar fruit, which each man 
was created to bear; but to be reckoned in the gross, in the hundred, 
or the thousand, of the party, the section, to which we belong; and our 
opinion predicted geographically, as the north, or the south? Not so, 
brothers and friends — please God, ours shall not be so. We will walk 
on our own feet; we will work with our own hands; we will speak our 
own minds.” 21 

The thinker should be free to go into primal solitudes of 
thought and blaze a path through the untrodden wilderness. 
Truth is the guiding star. Who is he that would disturb my 
vision of it, or that would direct my course away from it, or 
in any way displace truth with illusion or hallucination? Why 
do students travel like the lame and the halt and the blind. 


"Essay on “Self-Reliance.” 

20 “The Ring and the Book,” i, 692. 

21 “The American Scholar.” 


I 3 I 


limping and groping along, availing themselves of all manner 
of make-shifts, when it is their privilege to walk upright? 
Cyclopedias and translations and commentaries and keys are 
misused, to save the indolent and the foolish from that very 
exercise of free thought, which it is the object of the schools 
to encourage. 

.There was a time when free thought had many foes from 
without. It was not always safe to speak the truth. Now 
we have free speech, but there are foes to free thought more 
insidious and threatening than any civil statute. There is a 
legion of prejudices still to be cast out. He who seeks culture 
will not abide prejudice or indolence or fear. “O friend,” 
says Emerson, “never strike sail to a fear. Come into port 
greatly or sail with God the seas.” 22 

The intellectual life is the life of the silences. How do you 
fill up the silences? Thinking is done there, exposition is 
wrought there. In this laboratory between two worlds, we 
use spiritual and natural forces, experimenting with images 
and abstractions produced there by imagination and reason. 
The world without gives us of its store — all that we have eyes 
to see, and ears to hear; the world within gives us freely, for 
the asking, all the strength we need. But in this strange labor- 
atory the chemist is so rapt in alchemy that he himself is the 
very quintessence of it. He can not labor there and withhold 
himself. 

4. Types of Exposition. — In the preface to the “Novum 
Organum” Lord Bacon distinguishes “two distributions of 
learning ” as follows: 

“Let there exist then (and may it be of advantage to both) two 
sources, and two distributions of learning, and in like manner two 
tribes, and as it were kindred families of contemplators or philosophers, 
without any hostility or alienation between them; but rather allied and 
united by mutual assistance. Let there be, in short, one method of 
cultivating the sciences, and another of discovering them. And as for 
those who prefer and more readily receive the former, on account of 
their haste, or from motives arising from their ordinary life, or be- 
cause they are unable from weakness of mind to comprehend and em- 
brace the other (which must necessarily be the case with by far the 
greater number), let us wish that they may prosper as they desire in 
their undertaking, and attain what they pursue. But if any individual 
desire and is anxious not merely to adhere to and make use of present 
discoveries, but to penetrate still further, and not to overcome his ad- 
versaries in disputes, but nature by labour, not, in short, to give elegant 
and specious opinions, but to know to a certainty and 'demonstration, 
let him, as a true son of science (if such be his wish), join with us; 
that when he has left the antechambers of nature trodden by the multi- 
tude, an entrance at last may be discov * nts. 


22 Essay on “Heroism/* 



132 


And, in order to be better understood, and to render our meaning more 
familiar by assigning determinate names, we have accustomed ourselves 
to call the one method the anticipation of the mind, and the other the 
interpretation of nature” 

The method of “cultivating the sciences” begins with think- 
ing about substance, and so it may properly be called Sub- 
stantive Exposition. 

The method of “discovering’' the sciences begins with think- 
ing about phenomena and qualities of substance, and so it may 
properly be called Adjective Exposition. 

Substantive Exposition is the philosopher’s mode and its 
process of thinking is analysis and deduction. Adjective Ex- 
position is the scientist’s mode and its process of thinking is 
synthesis and induction. The two modes are combined in cir- 
cles of reasoning, but in order to understand the' elements we 
study them separately. 

The processes of the intellectual life move between cause 
and effect, between noumena and phenomena, between knowl- 
edge and authority. “Seeing is believing” we say of material 
phenomena; “experiencing is believing” we say of spiritual 
phenomena. Back of all these is the recognition of causality, 
and causality is authority. In our own consciousness of de- 
pendence and in our recognition of causality we know the 
creature and the Creator, and we recognize in the intellectual 
life the principle and fact of authority. 

5. Substantive Exposition. — An idea of substantive reality 
is the starting point of substantive exposition. To impart 
knowledge of truth to one who does not know it and to culti- 
vate appreciation of truth in one who does know it are the mo- 
tives of substantive exposition. All of the substantive pro- 
cesses are analytical, setting forth the truth in its phases, in its 
manifestations, in its effects — in such ways as will effectually 
subserve the purpose of the composition. The principle of 
analysis determines the plan of the composition. The key to 
all effectiveness in substantive exposition is this principle of 
analysis: if the principle is real and not artificial — if it is 
actually a “principle,” resolving the subject into primal parts — • 
simple, coordinate, exclusive, comprehensive, the process of 
composition will be easy, natural, clear, and will minister to 
contentment of rnind; if it is not well chosen the essential arti- 
ficiality of it will diffuse mental perplexity and discontent. A 
true principle of analysis frees the mind from perplexities, and 
mental fogs, and gives open vision and far horizons. 

Analysis may be logical, giving a complete view of the con- 
tent of the subject, or it may be literary, giving such a partition 


of the subject as will show its most characteristic and im- 
portant parts. 

L ogical A nalysis*.-. In Plato’s dialogue, “The Sophist,”, is 

an example of substantive exposition Shewing logical division 

as a method of complete analysis. It concludes as follows : 

“Stranger. Then now, you and I have come to an understanding, not 
only about the name of the angler’s art, but about the definition of the 
thing. One-half of all art was acquisitive; half of the acquisitive was 
conquest or taking by force, half of this was hunting, and half of the 
hunting was hunting animals, half of this was hunting water-animals; 
of this again, the under half waS fishing, half of fishing was striking; 
the first half of this was fishing with a barb, and one-half of this, being 
the kind which strikes with a hook and draws the fish from below 
upwards, is the kind which we are now seeking, and which is hence 
denoted angling.” 23 

A frequent form of logical analysis different from the 
method of division used by Plato, but complete in its charac- 
ter, is shown in . Richard Hook er’s survey of the realm of law : 

“Thus far therefore we have endeavoured in part to open, of what 
nature and force laws are, according- unto their-severaL kinds ; the law 
which God with himself hath eternally set down to follow in his own 
works ; the law which he hath made for his creatures to keep ; the law 
of natural and necessary agents; the law which angels in heaven obey; 
the law whereunto by the light of reason men find themselves bound in 
that they are men; the law which they make by composition for multi- 
tudes and politic societies of men to be guided by; the law which be- 
longeth unto each nation ; the law that concerneth the fellowship of all ; 
and lastly the law which God himself hath supernaturally revealed.” 24 

The principle of analysis in this passage is expressed in the 
phrase “according unto their several kinds.” 

Literary Analysis. Literary analysis is the partition of the 
subject into its most.. important parts. 

When the interest in any field of thought centers in certain 
parts of it, we may partition the subject into these parts and 
judge the whole by these. Thus, the two great political parties 
in America furnish a practical basis for discussing American 
politics, but this is merely a partition of the subject into its 
most important parts, and it is in no sense a complete logical 
division. 

The following passage of substantive exposition is an essay 
showing by literary analysis the tendencies of the age of 
Burke : 


23 The Dialogues of Plato, Jowett’s Translation, vol. 3, p. 454. 

24 “Ecclesiastical Polity,” 1, 16, I. 


134 


“History has strictly only to do with individual men as the originals, 
the furtherers, the opponents, or the representatives of some of those 
thousand diverse forces which, uniting in one vast sweep, bear along 
the successive generations of men as upon the broad wings of sea-winds 
to new and more fertile shores. No modern epoch has witnessed the 
beginnings of so many of these important movements as that which is 
covered by Burke’s parliamentary life. In every order of activity a 
fresh and gigantic impulse was given, the tide of national life widened 
and swelled under the influence of new and flushed tributaries, the 
springs and sources were unsealed of modern ideas, modern systems, 
and of ideas and systems that are still to be developed. 

“In the Spiritual order, for instance, when Burke was achieving his 
first successes in the House of Commons (1766), Wesley and White- 
field were strenuously traversing the length and breadth of the land, 
quickening the deep-hidden sensibilities, and filling with lofty and di- 
vine visions the once blind souls of men and women who had labored 
blankly, as brute beasts labor, down in coal mines, in factories, over 
furnaces and forges, in dank fields, on barren, remote moors, and who 
till then had known no glimpses of a wider and more joyful life than 
the life of a starved and ever-benumbed sense. 

“In the Industrial order a development of no less momentous im- 
portance dates from the same time. In the year in which Burke pub- 
lished his ‘Thoughts on the Present Discontents’ (1770), Hargreaves 
took out his patent for the spinning-jenny, the year before that is the 
date of Arkwright’s patent, and nine years later Samuel Crompton in- 
vented that wonderful machine, the mule, which endures as a marvel 
of ingenuity even in our own ingenious times. The improvement of 
means of transport proceeded at an equal pace with improvements in 
means of production. For while Burke was pondering his maiden 
speech (1766), Brindley was beginning the Grand Trunk Canal from 
the Trent to the Mersey, and Watt was busy on the third model of the 
steam-engine. 

“In the Speculative and Scientific order, while Burke and the Rock- 
ingham party were marking their abhorrence and despair at the Ameri- 
can policy of Lord North and the Court by a partial secession from 
Parliament (1776), the ‘Wealth of Nations’ was given to the world, 
and the foundations laid of economic science. Nor should we overlook 
the important fact that the tremendously powerful solvents supplied by 
Hume forty years before, were at this time as potent for destruction in 
one set of opinions as Adam Smith’s book was for construction in 
another set. Thus Burke’s contemporaries saw the Wesleyan revival 
of Christian belief. They saw the rise of a philosophy which directly 
and indirectly has done more to weaken and narrow that belief than 
Wesley or Butler, or anybody else did, to restore it. They saw those 
triumphs of mechanical invention and engineering science which were 
destined to revolutionize modern life. And, above all, they saw estab- 
lished those theoretic principles of commerce which, overthrowing the 
old notions of the mercantile system, were to add a thousandfold to 
the material comfort of mankind, and to prove an indispensable, though 
rough and temporary means, of propagating the idea of the brother- 
hood of nations. 

“Fourthly, and finally, in the Political Order. The year which saw 
the ‘Wealth of Nations* (1776) saw also the Declaration of American 
Independence. The year before Burke wrote the Letter to the Sheriffs 
of Bristol, Franklin was consoling Jefferson by the story of John 
Thompson the hatter, for the changes made by their colleagues in Jef- 
ferson’s draft of the Declaration, and shortly afterwards they all agreed 
upon that ever memorable announcement, ‘We, therefore, the repre- 


135 


sentatives of the United States of America, in general congress assem- 
bled,. appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of 
our intentions, do in the name and by the authority of the good people 
of these colonies, solemnly publish and declare that these United colo- 
nies are, and of right ought to be, Free and Independent States/ 
Thirteen years later, ‘the evening sun of July’ shone over the blood- 
stained ruin of the Bastille. The foundation of the new republic and 
the uprooting of the old monarchy were the two great events in the 
political order. Each is an achievement that in its relation to ourselves 
and some generations of our descendants, can have no rival in impor- 
tance save the other. 

“Though for the purposes of analysis and clear classification it is 
essential that we should speak of each of these impulses as single and 
distinct, it is highly important that we should recognize their common 
direction. Each of them is one element in the history of the country, 
but all the elements receive a common suffusion, which we are content 
vaguely to call the spirit of the times. Every age has its strong setting 
current of ideas. Those movements only retain a permanent interest 
which are in harmony with this current. Isolated fragments of anti- 
pathetic effort, spasmodic outbreaks of counter endeavor, pass away 
and are lost. It is the composition and fusion of main forces which 
arrest the eye of the historian. 

“It is not necessary for me to show in detail how the spirit of the 
Wesleyan reformation fitted in with the characteristic movements of 
the time. It is enough to commemorate the aid given to industrial 
development by the increase of thrift, sobriety, diligence, and those 
other moral virtues, a disposition to which was borne into the heart 
along with the newly-awakened spirit of religious fervor. The de- 
velopment of democratic principles was just as powerfully, though 
less palpably and visibly, helped forward by the Christian revival in the 
eighteenth century, as it has been by every system which calls the in- 
dividual to think, and makes him responsible, at the peril of his soul, 
for the results of his thinking. In England, moreover, dissent from 
the Established Church, has always been more or less democratic, be- 
cause the Church is the emblem and ally of authority. The way in 
which the discoveries of Adam Smith fitted in with the great mechan- 
ical inventions that were made at the same time is too obvious to need 
dwelling upon. To perceive clearly, first, that manufactures thrive 
better where there are the fewest restrictions on the free interchange 
of commodities — first, to assert the power of manufactures in increas- 
ing the national wealth, and second, to establish the conditions under 
which this power can rise to the greatest height of efficiency — this was 
the natural accompaniment in theory to the inventions of Arkwright 
and Crompton and Watt in practice. Still less need I devote any 
words to establish the underlying connection which subsists between a 
vigorous industrial movement and the impulse toward the abolition of 
privilege. Any ordinary House of Commons politician knows that the 
artisans are, as a class, the resolute enemies of Privilege, though per- 
haps barely resolute enough. The vigorous growth of manufactures, 
is indirectly as fatal to favored orders, as the foundation of the Ameri- 
can Republic and the French Revolution were directly.. 

“These, then, were the two prime characteristics which sum up the 
tendencies of Burke’s age : an enormous development of industry, and. 
the first germs of a substitution of the government of a whole people 
by itself for the exploded and tottering system of government by privi- 
leged orders. The seeds thus sown have come up with unequal rapid- 
ity, yet their maturity will not improbably be contemporaneous. The 
organization of Eabor and the overthrow of Privilege are tasks which 


136 


we may expect to see perfected at the same time, because most of the 
conditions that lie about the root of the one are also at the foundation 
of the other. When we can grapple with the moral confusion that 
reigns in one field, the obstacles in the other will no longer discourage 
or baffle us.” 25 

The idea of substance with which substantive exposition 
begins easily stirs the imagination so that the idea becomes a 
vision and the expository composition becomes descriptive. 
The following example of substantive exposition states the dis- 
tribution of chalk deposits as an introduction to a study of 
chalk which is to follow. The thought of the chalk deposits 
flashes into picturesque description here and there, but it is 
fundamentally substantive exposition: 

“If a well were to be sunk at our feet in the midst of the city of 
Norwich, the diggers would very soon find themselves at work in that 
white substance, almost too soft to be called rock, with which we are all 
familiar as ‘chalk/ 

. “Not only here, but over the whole county of Norfolk, the well- 
sinker might carry his shaft down many hundred feet without coming 
to the end of the chalk; and on the sea-coast, where the waves have 
pared away the face of the land which breasts them, the carped faces 
of the high cliffs are often wholly formed of the same material. 
Northward the chalk may be followed as far as Yorkshire; on the 
south coast it appears abruptly in the picturesque western bays of Dor- 
set, and breaks into the Needles of the Isle of Wight; while on the 
shores of Kent it supplies that long line of white cliffs to which Eng- 
land owes her name of Albion. Were the thin soil which covers it all 
washed away, a curved band of white chalk, here broader and there 
narrower, might be followed diagonally across England from Lul- 
worth in Dorset to Flamborough Head in Yorkshire— a distance of 
over 280 miles as the crow flies. From this band to the North Sea on 
the east, and the Channel on the south, the chalk is largely hidden by 
other deposits; but except in the Weald of Kent .and Sussex it enters 
into the very foundation of all the southeaster counties. 

“Attaining, as it does in some places, a fliickness of more than a 
thousand feet, the English chalk must be pdmitted to be a mass of con- 
siderable magnitude. Nevertheless it covers but an insignificant por- 
tion of the whole area occupied by the chalk formation of the globe, 
which has precisely the same general characters as ours, and is found 
in detached patches, some less and others more extensive than the 
English. Chalk occurs in northwest Ireland; it stretches over a large 
part of France, the chalk which underlies Paris being, in fact, a con- 
tinuation of that of the London basin ; runs through Denmark and 
Central Europe, and extends southward to North Africa; while east- 
ward it appears in the Crimea and in Syria, and may be traced as far 
as the shores of the Sea of Aral, in Central Asia. If all the points at 
which true chalk occurs were circumscribed, they would lie within an 
irregular oval about 3,000 miles in long diameter — the area of which 
would be as great as that of Europe, and would many times exceed 
that of the largest existing inland sea, the Mediterranean.” 28 


“John Morley, “Edmund Burke,” 1867. 

“Thomas Henry Huxley (1825-1895), “On a Piece of Chalk.” 


137 


Substantive exposition is the philosopher’s mode. The Self 
resorts to substantive exposition for the expression of old 
things, long known and believed. The recurrent needs of suc- 
cessive generations are ministered to by the riches from old 
treasuries, 

“For out of olde feldes, as men seith, 

Cometh al this newe corn fro yeer to yere; 

And out of olde bokes, in good feith, 

Cometh al this newe science that men lere.” 27 

The world is old and much is known. We need to believe , 
quite as much as we need to discover. To cultivate apprecia- 
tion of the things that are already known, is the natural mode 
of progress. Stores of knowledge afford data for “the antici- 
pation of the mind” ; principles revealed, and hitherto discov- 
ered, furnish an a priori, substantive basis for thinking. 

Truth cannot rest in the mind without stirring the heart. 
Old things become imbued with human interest through per- 
sonal associations. Substantive thinking thus acquires a qual- 
ity of passionateness that gives to this type of exposition cer- 
tain characteristics of argumentation, and marked imaginative 
quality. 

The Wisdom literature of the Bible affords good examples 
of substantive exposition. In the following passage the rela- 
tions of the thought, the Self, and the Other-Self are indicated 
in the prefatory words, “Hear thou, my son, and be wise” : 

Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? 

Who hath complaining? who hath wounds without cause? 

Who hath redness of eyes? 

They that tarry long at the wine; 

They that go to seek out mixed wine. 

Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, 

When it sparkleth in the cup, 

When it goeth down smoothly: 

At the last it biteth like a serpent, 

And stingeth like an adder. 

Thine eyes shall behold strange things, 

And thy heart shall utter perverse things. 

Yea, thou shalt be as he that lieth down in the midst of the sea, 

Or as he that lieth upon the top of a mast. 

They have stricken me, shalt thou say, and I was not hurt; 

They have beaten me, and I felt it not : 

When shall I awake? I will seek it yet again. 28 

The old man out of his experience speaks to the young man. 
The old man tells what he knows to one who does not know. 


27 Geoffrey Chaucer (1340-1400), “The Parlement of Foules,” The 
Proem, 22-25. 

28 Proverbs, 23, 29-35. 


138 

He begins with the idea of intemperance, and all of its phe- 
nomena come before his eyes, and they come in the emotional 
atmosphere of sad experience. This is a typical attitude of 
mind in substantive exposition ; the structure is so^ affected by 
emotion and imagination that passages of narration and de- 
scription appear and human interest radiates the qualities of 
poetry. 

6. Adjective Exposition. — The study of phenomena is the 
starting point of adjective exposition. To discover the sub- 
stantive reality behind the phenomena is the motive. Adjec- 
tive exposition reasons from effect to cause; it puts two and 
two together. The key word is synthesis. The process of 
adjective exposition is inductive, empirical, a posteriori . . The 
realm of phenomena is the habitat of it; the Tnd ^tive^ &q^a c^S . 
find expression in it. It is the scientist’s mode. 

Adjective exposition is a mode of discovery, seeking to in- 
terpret nature and find the meaning of things behind the things 
that are seen. It notes appearances, facts, phenomena, com- 
mon properties and attributes, and pervasive qualities. It is 
an adjective process of composition — qualitative and intensive. 
It involves mental processes of the severest abstraction, — for 
it is harder to think concrete things into abstraction than it is 
to think abstract things into concretion. Adjective exposition 
gives a mental view of the relations of phenomena; it pro- 
motes accuracy in observing, clearness in thinking, and de- 
cisiveness in comprehension and judgment. 

In an address at the George Washington University, Dr. 
Charles E. Munroe illustrated the processes of discovering the 
secrets of nature by narrating the investigation of Sir Hum- 
phry Davy on the composition of water as follows : 

“It has been said that, ‘Small and feeble though the hand of man 
may be, it yet holds clues to every maze in the universe — clues through 
which the unseen may be perceived, the silent given a voice, the impal- 
pable rise to touch/ While such is undoubtedly the case, yet the fol- 
lowing up of these clues is not a holiday amusement, but a severe and 
painstaking task. 

* * * * * * * 

“It was in this state of the question that Sir Humphry Davy began 
his investigation. From the analogies of chemical science, as well as 
from the previous experiments of Cavendish and Lavoisier, he was per- 
suaded that water consisted solely of oxygen and hydrogen, and that 
the acid and alkali observed were merely adventitious products. This 
opinion was undoubtedly well founded; but, great disciple of Bacon as 
he was, Davy felt that his opinion was worth nothing unless substan- 
tiated by experimental evidence, and accordingly he set himself to work 
to obtain the required proof. 

“In Davy’s first experiments the two glass tubes which he used to 
contain the water were connected together by an animal membrane. 


139 


and he found, on immersing the poles of his battery in their respective 
tubes that, besides the now well-known gases, there were really formed 
muriatic acid in one tube, and a fixed alkali in the other. Davy at 
once, however, suspected that the acid and alkali came from common 
salt contained in the animal membrane, and he therefore rejected this 
material and connected the glass tubes by carefully washed cotton 
fiber. On submitting the water in this apparatus to the action of the 
voltaic current, and continuing the experiment through a great length 
of time, no muriatic acid appeared; but he still found that the water 
in the one tube was strongly alkaline, and in the other strongly acid, 
although the acid was chiefly nitrous acid. A part of the acid evi- 
dently came from the animal membrane, but not the whole, and the 
source of the alkali was as obscure as before. 

“Davy then made another guess. He knew that alkali was used in 
the manufacture of glass; and it occurred to him that the glass of the 
tubes might have been decomposed by the electric current, and thus 
have furnished the alkali found in his experiments. He therefore 
substituted for the glass tubes cups of agate, which contains no alkali, 
and repeated the experiment, but still the troublesome acid and alkali 
appeared. Nevertheless, he said, it is possible that these products may 
be derived from some impurities existing in the agate cups, or adher- 
ing to them; and so, in order to make his experiments as refined as 
possible, he rejected the agate vessels and procured two conical cups 
of pure gold, but, on repeating the experiments, the acid and alkali 
again appeared. 

“And now let me ask who is there of us who would not have con- 
cluded at this stage of the inquiry that the acid and alkali were essen- 
tial products of the decomposition of water? But not so with Davy. 
He knew, perfectly well that all the circumstances of his experiments 
had not been tested, and until this had been done he had no right to 
draw such a conclusion. He next turned to the water he was using. 
It was distilled water, which he supposed to be pure, but still, he said, 
it is possible that the impurities of the spring-water may be carried 
over to a slight extent by the steam in the process of distillation, and 
may therefore exist in "the distilled water to a sufficient amount to 
have caused the difficulty. Accordingly, he evaporated a quart of this 
water in a silver dish, and obtained seven-tenths of a grain of dry 
residue. He then added this residue to the small amount of water in 
the gold cones and again repeated the experiment. The proportion of 
alkali and acid was sensibly increased. 

“You may think he had at last found the source of the acid and 
alkali and that they came from the impurities in the water. So 
thought Davy, but he was too faithful a disciple of the scientific 
method to leave this legitimate inference unverified. Accordingly, he 
repeatedly distilled the water from a silver alembic until it left abso- 
lutely no residue on evaporation, and then with water which he knew 
to be pure, and contained in vessels of gold from which he knew, it 
could acquire no taint, he still again repeated the already well-tried 
experiment. He dipped his test-paper into the vessel connected, with 
the positive pole, and the water was still decidedly acid. He dipped 
the paper into the vessel connected with the negative pole, and the 
water was still alkaline. 

“You might well think that Davy would have- been discouraged here. 
But not in the least. The path to the great truths which Nature hides 
often leads through a far denser and a more bewildering forest than 
this; but then there is not infrequently a ‘blaze’ on the trees which 
points out the way, although it may require a sharp eye in a clear head 
to see the marks. And Davy was well enough trained to observe a 


140 

circumstance which showed that he was now on the right path and 
heading straight for the goal. 

“On examining the alkali formed in this last experiment, he found 
that it was not, as before, a fixed alkali, like soda or potash, but the 
volatile alkali, ammonia. Evidently the fixed alkali came from the 
impurities of the water, and when, on repeating the experiment with 
pure water in agate cups or glass tubes, the same results followed, he 
felt assured that so much at least had been established. There was 
still, however, the production of the volatile alkali and of nitrous acid to 
be accounted for. As these contain only the elements of air and water, 
Davy thought that possibly they might have been formed by the com- 
bination of hydrogen at the one pole and of oxygen at the other with 
the nitrogen of the air, which was necessarily dissolved in the water. 
In order, therefore, to eliminate the effect of the air, he again repeated 
the experiment under the receiver of an air-pump from which the at- 
mosphere had been exhausted, but still the acid and alkali appeared in 
the two cups. 

“Davy, however, was not discouraged by this, for the ‘blazes’ on the 
trees were becoming more numerous, and he now felt sure that he was 
fast approaching the end. He observed that the quantity of acid and 
alkali had been greatly diminished by exhausting the air, and this was 
all that could be expected, for, as Davy knew perfectly well, the best 
air-pumps do not remove all the air. He therefore, for the last ex- 
periment, not only exhausted the air, but replaced it with pure hydro- 
gen, and then exhausted the hydrogen and refilled the receiver with 
the same gas several times in succession, until he was perfectly sure 
that the last traces of air had been, as it were, washed out. In this 
atmosphere of pure hydrogen he allowed the battery to act on the 
water, and not until the end of twenty-four hours did he disconnect 
the apparatus. He then dipped his test-paper into the water connected 
with the positive pole, and there was no trace of acid ; he dipped it 
into the water at the negative pole, and there was no alkali; and you 
may judge with what satisfaction he withdrew those slips of test- 
paper, whose unaltered surfaces showed that he had been guided at 
last to the truth, and that his perseverance had been rewarded. 

“It is by persistence such as this, by the application of the severest 
tests, and by disinterested but unceasing endeavor that the truths of 
nature are revealed to man.” 29 

In the following passage from De Quincey a study of the 
phrase “sudden death ” reveals a sharp verbal distinction in the 
meaning as used by Caesar and by the Christian Church, and 
this leads also to the discovery of things in the depths of 
human nature. This study, beginning with “sudden death’' 
and ending with “the treason of the aboriginal fall,” is adjec- 
tive exposition : 

“Caesar, the Dictator, at his last dinner party ( ccenci ), on the very 
evening before his assassination, when the minutes of his earthly 
career were numbered, being asked what death, in his judgment, might 
be pronounced the most eligible, replied, ‘That which should be most 
sudden.’ On the other hand, the divine Litany of our English Church, 


29 “The Lord Protector’s Motto: ‘ Qui cessat esse melior, cessat esse 
bonus,’” Charles E. Munroe, Ph. D., LL. D., Commencement Address, 
May 29, 1905. 


when breathing forth supplications, as if in some representative char- 
acter for the whole human race prostrate before God, places such a 
death in the very van of horrors: ‘From lightning and tempest; from 
plague, pestilence, and famine; from battle and murder, and from 
sudden death — Good Lord, deliver us.’ 

* * * * * * * 

“The other remark has reference to the meaning of the word sud- 
den. Very possibly Caesar and the Christian Church do not differ in 
the way supposed, — that is, do not differ by any difference of doctrine 
as between Pagan and Christian views of the moral temper appro- 
priate to death; but perhaps they are contemplating different cases. 
Both contemplate a violent death, a piadavaTos — death that is /3i cuos, 
or, in other words, death that is brought about, not by internal and 
spontaneous change, but by active force having its origin from with- 
out. In this meaning the two authorities agree. Thus far they are in 
harmony. But the difference is, that the Roman by the word ‘sudden’ 
means unlingering, whereas the Christian Litany by ‘sudden death* 
means a death without warning, consequently without any available 
summons to religious preparation. The poor mutineer, who kneels 
down to gather into his heart the bullets from twelve firelocks of his 
pitying comrades, dies by a most sudden death in Caesar’s sense ; one 
shock, one mighty spasm, one (possibly not one) groan, and all is 
over. But, in the sense of the Litany, the mutineer’s death is far from 
sudden : his offence originally, his imprisonment, his trial, the interval 
between his sentence and its execution, having all furnished him with 
separate warnings of his fate — having all summoned him to meet it 
with solemn preparation. 

“Here at once, in this sharp verbal distinction, we comprehend the 
faithful earnestness with which a holy Christian Church pleads on 
behalf of her poor departing children, that God would vouchsafe to 
them the last great privilege and distinction possible on a death-bed, 
viz., the opportunity of untroubled preparation for facing this mighty 
trial. Sudden death, as a mere variety in the modes of dying, where 
death in some shape is inevitable, proposes a question of choice, which, 
equally in the Roman and Christian sense, will be variously answered 
according to each man’s variety of temperament. Meantime, one as- 
pect of sudden death there is, one modification, upon which no doubt 
can arise, that of all martyrdoms it is the most agitating, viz., where 
it surprises a man under circumstances which offer (or which seem 
to offer) some hurrying, flying, inappreciably minute chance of evading 
it. Sudden as the danger which it affronts, must be any effort, by 
which such an evasion can be accomplished. Even that, even the sick- 
ening necessity for hurrying in extremity where all hurry seems des- 
tined to be vain, — even that anguish is liable to a hideous exasperation 
in one particular case: viz., where the appeal is made not exclusively 
to the instinct of self-preservation, but to the conscience, on behalf of 
some other life besides your own, accidentally thrown upon your pro- 
tection. To fail, to collapse in a service merely your own, might seem 
comparatively venial ; though, in fact, it is far from venial. But to fail 
in a case where Providence has suddenly thrown into, your hands the 
final interests of another, — a fellow-creature shuddering between the 
gates of life and death: this, to a man of apprehensive conscience, 
would mingle the misery of an atrocious criminality with the misery 
of a bloody calamity. You are called upon by the case supposed, pos- 
sibly to die; but to die at the very moment when, by any even partial 
failure, or effeminate collapse of your energies, you will be self-de- 
nounced as a murderer. You had but the twinkling of an eye for 


142 


your effort, and that effort might have been unavailing; but to have 
risen to the level of such an effort, would have rescued you, though 
not from dying, yet from dying as a traitor to your final and farewell 
duty. 

“The situation here contemplated exposes a dreadful ulcer, lurking 
far down in the depths of human nature. It is not that men generally 
are summoned to face such awful trials. But potentially, and in 
shadowy outline, such a trial is moving subterraneously in perhaps all 
men’s natures. Upon the secret mirror of our dreams such a trial is 
darkly projected, perhaps, to every one of us. That dream, so familiar 
to childhood, of meeting a lion, and, through languishing prostration 
in hope and the energies of hope, that constant sequel of lying down 
before the lion, publishes the secret frailty of human nature — reveals 
its deep-seated falsehood to itself — records its abysmal treachery. 
Perhaps not one of us escapes that dream; perhaps, as by some sor- 
rowful doom of man, that dream repeats for every one of us, through 
every generation, the original temptation in Eden. Every one of us, 
in this dream, has a bait offered to the infirm places of his own indi- 
vidual will ; once again a snare is presented for tempting him into cap- 
tivity to a luxury of ruin; once again, as in aboriginal Paradise, the 
man falls by his own choice; again, by infinite iteration, the ancient 
earth groans to Heaven, through her secret caves, over the weakness 
of her child. ‘Nature, from her seat, sighing through all her works/ 
again ‘gives signs of woe that all is lost;’ and again the counter sigh 
is repeated to the sorrowing heavens for the endless rebellion against 
God. It is not without probability that in the world of dreams every 
one of us ratifies for himself the original transgression. In dreams, 
perhaps under some secret conflict of the midnight sleeper, lighted up 
to the consciousness at the time, but darkened to the memory as soon 
as all is finished, each several child of our mysterious race completes 
for himself the treason of the aboriginal fall .” 30 

Definition is a process of adjective exposition. A defini- 
tion is a summary of essential properties classifying and indi- 
vidualizing an object. The properties of objects are either 
class properties possessed by the object in common with other 
objects with which it is thereby related, or individual proper- 
ties possessed by the object alone which is hereby separated 
and distinguished from all other objects. There is no more 
impressive monument of human thought than a dictionary. 

The fundamental definition used in this book is Rhetoric is 
self-expression through language. There are two movements 
in this process of definition. The first ascribes to Rhetoric all 
the class-properties belonging to self-expression. The second 
ascribes to Rhetoric the individual property belonging to lan- 
guage. 

This process is constructive and synthetic, first, lifting above 
the common plane the modes of self-expression , which modes 
are the “fine arts”; and, second, lifting above this class of 
things into individual isolation the one thing, Rhetoric. 

These two movements are sometimes described by saying 
that the first states the genus and the second the differentia. 


80 “The English Mail-Coach.” 


143 


The definition is a summary of properties rather than a state- 
ment of properties: it names a genus, ascribing to the object 
all the properties of the genus; it names a differentia, ascribing 
exclusively to the object all the properties of the differentia. 
The definition does not state what these properties are. The 
definition is suggestive rather than informing; it is an appeal 
to experience. Rhetoric is defined, first, by an appeal to the 
Other- Self respecting self-expression; whatever is known 
about this is ascribed to Rhetoric, but the definition gives no 
information about it. Definition explains a thing by means of 
comparison, saying that the properties of the thing defined are 
the same as the properties of other things. It follows that the 
object to be defined should be compared with something other 
than itself ; with something better known than itself ; with 
something simpler than itself. 

7. Organic Thinking. — In thinking and writing substantive 
and adjective exposition are inseparable. The emphasis may 
be philosophic and analytic, making the dominant mode sub- 
stantive, or scientific and synthetic, making the dominant mode 
adjective; but always in thinking and writing both modes are 
present. 

Every act of reasoning involves substantive and adjective 
exposition, because it deals with both things and relations, 
giving a clearer organic thought of the individual, and a wider 
conception of its relations. 

The mind is at all times filled with images and abstractions. 
The image which is a creature of the imagination is the char- 
acteristic sign of substantive exposition. The abstraction 
which is a creature of the reason is the characteristic sign of 
adjective exposition. 

The abstraction is a concept of the properties of the image. 
We cannot think of the image apart from its properties. The 
properties of the image arise out of its own nature, and these 
properties relate it to other images and so to the universe ; the 
image is saved from isolation by its own properties. Since its 
relations are not artificial bonds, but properties, the more we 
know about the relations of a thing the better we know the 
thing itself. 

Thinking is a process of mental weaving in which the warp 
and the woof are substantive and the pattern is adjective. 
But this strange fabric of the mind is not a manufacture, but 
a growth, and the pattern is a veritable unfolding of the sub- 
stance, like the unfolding of a flower. 

So adjective processes are but the revelation of substance; 
the method of discovery is at the same time a method of culti- 
vation. The scientist, like Bacon, is also a philosopher.' 


144 


The Man Thinking has a universal outlook, and with the 
wide vision develops also complete knowledge of himself. The 
more he knows of the universe of God the better he under- 
stands his own latency. So knowledge is power. Such think- 
ing leads the soul to the shore of the transcendent deep. Such 
exposition begets experiences like these: 

“Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 
When a new planet swims into his ken; 

Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes 
He stared at the Pacific — and all his men 
Look’d at each other with a wild surmise — 

Silent, upon a peak in Darien.” 81 

8. The Text-Book. — The Text-Book is adjective exposi- 
tion. It is an ordered presentation, by inductive processes, of 
a body of systematized knowledge. It begins with a definition, 
and this definition is the theme of the entire book. Like a 
geometrical proposition, it stands at the beginning and the 
end, — mere assertion at the beginning, at the end the conclu- 
sion which was to be proved. The definition is the goal 
towards which the exposition moves ; the definition itself is a 
selective and synthetic principle, determining the usefulness of 
material, guiding the development towards a demonstration of 
the principle in each one of the elements. 

The plan of this book is a useful example. The definition 
is — Rhetoric is self-expression through language. First, there 
are studies of the definition treating self-expression and lan- 
guage. Second, there are the modes and elements of language 
in which this quality of self-expression is to be explained. The 
modes are in two groups, the primary modes of style — prose 
and poetry, and the secondary modes of style — narration, de- 
scription, exposition, and argumentation. The elements of 
style are the composition, the paragraph, the sentence, the 
word, the syllable — the natural divisions of language to be 
found in all composition. Each of these modes and elements 
of language is the subject of a chapter explaining how the 
characteristic rhetorical quality is self-expression. This is a 
study of attributes to establish a principle, and a typical exam- 
ple of adjective exposition. 

g. The Monograph. — The Monograph is adjective exposi- 
tion treating thoroughly a single topic. It is called by various 
names: it may be issued by a scientific bureau of the National 
Government as a “bulletin” ; it may be read before a scientific 


81 John Keats (1795-1821), Sonnet, “On First Looking Into Chap- 
man’s Homer.” 


145 


society as a “paper”; it may be submitted to a university 
faculty as a “thesis,” or “disquisition,” or “dissertation.” The 
monograph is well adapted for such literary work as shall be 
a contribution to knowledge, because the motive and method 
of it encourage originality, and tend to make the Self not a 
follower but an explorer. Research discovers facts, and these 
facts suggest a hypothesis which is then established by means 
of the facts. The monograph requires the insight and power 
of original thinking. 

It is scientific, it has simple unity, it is formal. 

In essence and in method it is scientific. 

First, the essence of the monograph is of things known ; it 
deals, not with speculation, or guess-work, or fancy, or feel- 
ing, but with knowledge. It rests on facts — things that are 
“made,” on phenomena — things that “appear.” Things may be 
known mediately through the senses, giving us knowledge of 
matter, and immediately through experience, giving us knowl- 
edge of spirit. Mediate perception through the senses gives 
scientific facts for the physical sciences. Immediate percep- 
tion through experience gives scientific facts for the meta- 
physical sciences. The monograph has to do exclusively with 
scientific facts. 

Second, the method of the monograph is inductive, proceed- 
ing from facts to principles, setting forth principles only as 
they are discovered by inductive processes based upon knowl- 
edge. The etymological meaning of science is knozvledge, and 
the inductive method is scientific because this method is based 
on knowledge, whereas deduction is based on assumption. 

It has simple unity. A rhetorical composition has organic 
character, and when the treatment of the theme is complete, 
with all of its implications duly unfolded and set forth, the 
effect is one of unity. All the facts establish a principle, and 
the principle in turn explains the facts, and these correspond- 
encies give an effect of completeness. The proper length of 
the monograph is entirely a relative matter. It should be long 
enough to satisfy the demands of the proposition : it should 
set forth with scientific accuracy all of the facts, and it should 
explain how these facts are given meaning, consistency, and 
unity in the proposition. 

Simple unity limits the monograph to one simple proposition. 
The monograph is to the treatise as the single paragraph is to 
the complex composition, as the short story is to the novel. 
The interesting narrowness of many theses submitted to uni- 
versity faculties is the result of wholesome limitation. Simple 
unity facilitates such a treatment as will develop the essential 
character of the thought— -its weakness, its strength, its mean- 


146 

ing. Simple unity is the condition most favorable to seeing 
and to understanding the thing as it is. Great ideas are usually 
simple ; therefore, great ideas usually come within the scope of 
simple unity. If you would think deeply do not include too 
much, and do not be diverted from the one simple proposition 
which you wish to understand and explain. 

The monograph is formal. It shows the condition of the 
literary standard when thought controls, and the character of 
the intellectual type also, which is the normal expression of 
the reasoning faculty relatively unmixed with imagination or 
feeling. The thought gives weight and dignity of form; and 
the strict observance of conditions imposed by scientific data 
and method, and by the principle of unity, gives added formal- 
ism. The treatment shows in every phase of it the develop- 
ment of a well-ordered plan; this formal molding influence is 
■discernible in divisions, in transitions, and connections. The 
style shows in every phase of it the personal appreciation of 
the conditions to which the composition is subject. The style 
is concise and unadorned ; it may utilize imagination, but only 
for service. The words are like a column of veteran sol- 
diery — lean, and sinewy, and dependable. 

10. The Treatise. — The Treatise is a thorough, systematic 
explanation of a complex subject. It is usually adjective ex- 
position, for this type alone affords material for such thorough 
treatment and clear thinking as will satisfy the natural inquisi- 
tiveness of the mind. A treatise is appropriately called a 
“work” ; it is the most dignified kind of exposition. The ex- 
perience of a life-time may be projected in a treatise. The 
deep, unspoken convictions of a generation may find expres- 
sion in a treatise. The meaning of the intellectual life of the 
world, trending in a central current through many generations, 
may be apprehended and expressed in a treatise. 

In such a treatise Lord Bacon became known as the founder 
of the inductive philosophy. The preface of “The Great In- 
stauration” has a remarkable paragraph, interpreting the spirit 
and method of this great treatise, and, in a wider range of sug- 
gestion, showing the dignity of exposition and the character 
of the adjective type. We shall do well to study this para- 
graph, for so we may have Bacon for our teacher : 

“We, for our part at least, overcome by the eternal love of truth, 
have committed ourselves to uncertain, steep, and desert tracks, and 
trusting and relying on Divine assistance, have borne up our mind 
against the violence of opinions, drawn up as it were in battle array, 
against our own internal doubts and scruples, against the mists and 
clouds of nature, and against fancies flitting on all sides around us ; 
that we might at length collect some more trustworthy and certain in- 


147 


dications of the living and posterity. And if we have made any way 
in this matter, no other method than the true and genuine humiliation 
of the human soul has opened it unto us. For all who before us have 
applied themselves to the discovery of the arts, after casting their eyes 
a while upon things, instances, and experience, have straightway in- 
voked, as it were, some spirits of their own to disclose their oracles, 
as if invention were nothing but a species of thought. But we, in our 
subdued and perpetual intercourse with things, abstract our under- 
standing no farther from them than is necessary to prevent the confu- 
sion of the images of things with their radiation, a confusion similar 
to that we experience by our senses: and thus but little is left for the 
powers and excellence of wit. And we have in teaching continued to 
show forth the humility, which we adopt in discovering. For we do 
not endeavor to assume or acquire any majestic state for these our 
discoveries, by the triumphs of confutation, the citing of antiquity, the 
usurpation of authority, or even the veil of obscurity, which would 
easily suggest themselves to one endeavouring to throw light upon his 
own name, rather than the minds of others. We have not, I say, prac- 
tised either force or fraud on men’s judgments, nor intend we so to 
do; but we conduct them to things themselves and the real connexion 
of things, that they may themselves behold what they possess, what 
they prove, what they add, and what they contribute to the common 
stock. If, however, we have in any matter given too easy credit, or 
slumbered and been too inadvertent, or have mistaken our road, and 
broken off inquiry, yet we exhibit things plainly and openly, so that our 
errors can be noted and separated before they corrupt any further the 
mass of sciences, and the continuation of our labors is rendered easy 
and unembarrassed. And we think that by so doing we have estab- 
lished forever the real and legitimate union of the empiric and rational 
faculties, whose sullen and inauspicious divorces and repudiations have 
disturbed everything in the great family of mankind.” 82 

All extended works in science, in philosophy, in history, in 
literature, in art are treatises. 

Darwin’s “Origin of Species/’ Spencer’s “Synthetic Phi- 
losophy,” Bacon’s “Advancement of Learning,” Hooker’s 
“Ecclesiastical Polity,” Gibbon’s “Decline and Fall of the 
Roman Empire,” Carlyle’s “French Revolution,” Taylor’s 
“Holy Dying,” Ruskin’s “Modern Painters” are examples of 
dignified composition having dominant expository motive and 
prevailing adjective processes. 

The demands of such work upon the Self in devotion and 
sacrifice, the effect of it in humility and sincerity and refine- 
ment, are suggested in the following transcript from Gibbon’s 
“Memoirs” : 

“It was on the day, or rather night, of the 27th of June, 1787, be- 
tween the hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the 
last page in a summer-house in my garden. After laying down my 
pen, I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, 
which commands a prospect of the country, the lake and the moun- 
tains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the 
moon was reflected from the waters, and all nature was silent. I will 


82 “The Great Instauration,” Preface. 


148 


not dissemble the first emotions of joy on the recovery of my freedom, 
and perhaps the establishment of my fame. But my pride was soon 
humbled, and a sober melancholy was spread over my mind by the 
idea that I had taken an everlasting leave of an old and agreeable 
companion, and that, whatsoever might be the future date of my his- 
tory, the life of the historian must be short and precarious” 83 

11. The Essay. — The Essay is substantive exposition. The 
function of the essay is not the discovery of knowledge, but 
the cultivation of it. The mission of the eighteenth century 
essays was to educate and improve the age by the dissemina- 
tion of ideas. The motive of the Spectator papers was stated 
as follows : 

* * * “I shall endeavour to enliven morality with wit, and to 
temper wit with morality, that my readers may, if possible, both ways 
find their account in the speculation of the day. And to the end that 
their virtue and discretion may not be short, transient, . intermitting 
starts of thought, I have resolved to refresh their memories from day 
to day, till I have recovered them out of that desperate state of vice 
and folly into which the age is fallen. The mind that lies fallow for 
a single day, sprouts up in follies that are only to be killed by a con- 
stant and assiduous culture. It was said of Socrates, that he brought 
Philosophy down from heaven, to inhabit among men; and I shall be 
ambitious to have it said of me, that I have brought Philosophy out of 
closets and libraries, schools, and colleges, to dwell in clubs and assem- 
blies, at tea-tables, and in coffee-houses.” 84 

Bacon’s Essays cultivate philosophical ideas and minister to 
the general needs of the intellectual life. The titles show 
their character— “Of Truth,” “Of Studies,” “Of Supersti- 
tion,” “Of Great Place.” These are great abstractions carry- 
ing with them appreciation of causality, consistency, unity — a 
mighty current of thought moving serenely on. “They handle 
those things,” said Bacon, “in which both men’s lives and their 
pens are most conversant.” 

Emerson’s Essays are also for the cultivation of philosophic 
ideas — “Heroism,” “Self-Reliance,” “Compensation,” “Friend- 
ship,” “Intellect.” 

Essays have ministered to general culture in distinctive ways 
that will be suggested by the names of Charles Lamb, De 
Quincey, Macaulay, Carlyle, Lowell. Expository articles in 
magazines are generally Essays, disseminating ideas in political 
sciences, in economics, in sociology, in the applied sciences ; or 
ministering, all too rarely, to the intellectual life of those who, 
like Izaak Walton, would “study to be quiet.” 

Essays constitute a very large class. They are on subjects 
of permanent importance and unusual interest, making many 

“Edward Gibbon (I737-I794). “Memoirs of My Life and Writings.” 

84 “The Spectator,” No. 10, Monday, March 12, 1710-11, by Joseph 
Addison (1672-1719). 


149 


of the world's best books; they are, also, on subjects of mo- 
mentary importance and passing interest, like the editorials in 
daily newspapers. 

Essays have often a quality of graceful expressiveness that 
comes from a congenial relation of the Self and the Other- 
Self. The Other-Self is the “Kind Reader.” 

The essay meets the three limitations of humanity named by 
Bacon — lack of time, ordinary needs, and weakness of mind. 
Individual capacity and educational levels are higher now than 
in Bacon’s time ; the ordinary needs are not so simple, but they 
are still practical ; the lack of time is a more serious limitation 
than it used to be. The effect of these limitations is still suffi- 
cient to keep the multitudes away from treatises, monographs, 
and text-books, and to restrict them to the essay as the sole 
ministrant to the intellectual life. 

12. The Thinkers. — Wordsworth wrote of the antechapel 

at Cambridge, 

“Where the statue stood 
Of Newton with his prism and silent face, 

The marble index of a mind for ever 

Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.” M 

Exposition is the great thoroughfare of thinkers bearing the 
unseen traffic of the world. Kipling’s description of India’s 
Grand Trunk Road reads like an allegory of exposition : 

“It runs straight, bearing without crowding India’s traffic for fifteen 
hundred miles — such a river of life as nowhere else exists in the 
world. They looked at the green-arched, shade-flecked length of it, 
the white breadth speckled with slow-pacing folk.” 88 

Exposition is the ground-work of all prose from which, for 
special purposes, we develop narration, description, or argu- 
mentation, and to which we invariably return. Narration and 
description verge into exposition until expository quality be- 
comes dominant and the two sensuous modes are merely illus- 
trative. Exposition itself has two distinct types, yet these 
types tend to lose themselves in each other, until it is a matter 
of nice discrimination to say which type prevails. Substantive 
exposition begins with principles and adjective exposition with 
“facts,” yet the outlook of each is toward the other. Sub- 
stantive exposition is philosophic, adjective exposition is scien- 
tific: it should be borne in mind that both are literary. The 
Arab, a philosopher with no vocation for four thousand years, 
has written the sacred books of the world. The modern Amer- 


85 “The Prelude,” 3, 60-63. 
88 “Kim,” ch. 3. 


i5o 


lean, a scientist, has conquered the sea and the earth and the 
air, tending to make all things vocational. Literature is not 
partisan between these two : it ministers to the philosopher and 
to the scientist. Thinking does not rest in the spiritual alone, 
nor is it content with the merely material. Human interest is 
both spiritual and material, and the man who studies matter is 
sustained, also, by the things of the spirit. 

The Russian scientist Mendeleeff dedicated his work on 
“Solutions” to his mother, in the following lines : 

“This investigation is dedicated to the memory of a mother by her 
youngest offspring. Conducting a factory, she could educate him only 
by her own work. She instructed by example, corrected with love, and 
in order to devote him to science she left Siberia with him, spending 
thus her last resources and strength. When dying, she said, ‘Refrain 
from illusions, insist on work, and not on words. Patiently search 
divine and scientific truths.’ She understood how often dialectical 
methods deceive, how much there is still to be learned, and how, with 
the aid of science without violence, with love but firmness, all supersti- 
tion, untruth, and error are removed, bringing in their stead the safety 
of discovered truth, freedom for further development, general welfare, 
and inward happiness. Dmitri Mendeleeff regards as sacred a mother’s 
dying words. October, 1887.” 3T 

The thinkers are like the sailors: they do not traverse an 
uncharted sea, they are not without a compass, they are not- 
without the coast lights, and not without the signs in the 
firmament. 

The thinkers explore and traverse “divine and scientific 
truths,” the scientific interpretation of nature, and the philo- » 

sophical anticipation of the mind. 

Exposition leads into Silence where the thinkers are. Car- 
lyle had a vision of them: 

“Ah yes, I will say again : The great silent men,! Looking round on 
the noisy inanity of the world, words with little meaning, actions jvith 
little worth, one loves to reflect on the great empire of Silence. The 
noble silent men, scattered here and there, each in his department; 
silently thinking, silently working; whom no Morning Newspaper makes 
mention of ! They are the salt of the Earth. A country that has none- 
or few of these is in a bad way. Like a forest which had no roots ; 
which had all turned into leaves and boughs,*; — which must soon wither ' 
and be no forest. Woe for us if we had nothing but what we can 
show, or speak. Silence, the great Empire of Silence: higher than the 
stars ; deeper than the Kingdoms of Death ! It alone is great ; all else 
is small.” 88 


87 Quoted in Mendeleeff Memorial Lecture by Tilden, Journal Chem- 
ical Society, Dec., 1909, p. 2079. 

“Thomas Carlyle (i795-i88i>, “The Hero as King” in “Heroes and 
Hero-Worship.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


ARGUMENTATION. 


i. The Other- Self. — Argumentation is a rhetorical mode 
of style expressing the relations of thought to the Other-Self. 
This is the supreme appeal to the Other-Self. All the modes 
of style, the primary modes of prose and poetry, and the sec- 
ondary modes of narration, description, and exposition con- 
tribute to the effectiveness of argumentation. Through the 
logical processes of reason and through the personal incentives 
of feeling and imagination argumentation addresses the will- 
The Self seeks to commend the thought to the Other-Self by 
conviction and persuasion. 

The appeal to motive underlies all argumentative composi- 
tion. This is the deliberate recognition of the moral nature 
of man, and the efficiency of argumentation depends upon the 
susceptibility of the Other-Self to motive. The relation of 
motive to personality is a path, of influence that sweeps through 
language into infinite vistas. It is the glory of motive that it 
is capable of stirring forces that transcend the horizons of 
time. 

The ideals of argumentation are truth and beauty. The 
understanding must know that the thought is true in order 
to believe it; the emotions must feel that the thought is 
beautiful in order to desire it. The Self addresses the Other- 
Self through the reason and seeks to convince the Other-Self 
that the thought is true. The Self addresses the Other-Self 
through the feelings and seeks to persuade the Other-Self that 
the thought is beautiful. 

In composition and in literature we are moving among vast 
influences, and we gain a vision of time in narration, of space 
in description, of thought in exposition, and of individuality 
in argumentation. 

Individuality is 'he spiritual quality that distinguishes one- 
person from another. > Argumentation begins with a concep- 
tion of individuality. 

Isolation makes the problem of self-expression difficult.. 
The problem is doubly difficult, on the side of thought and om 
the side of the Other-Self. Individuality separates us fronn 
the things we would think of, and from the Other-Self.. 
Emerson says, “The inaccessibleness of every thought but that 
we are in is wonderful,” 1 and again, “An innavigable sea 


(151) 


Essay on “The Poet.’ 


washes with silent waves between us and the things we aim 
at and converse with .” 2 Bacon states the problem and sug- 
gests the solution: “But little do men perceive what solitude 
is, and how far it extendeth; for a crowd is not company, 
and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk is but a 
tinkling cymbal where there is no love .” 3 

The Other-Self is set in isolation. Each of us has his own 
little parable of an islander looking out to sea. 

Saint John the aged stood upon the shore of Patmos look- 
ing towards the mainland of Asia where were the churches 
that he loved. And he was separated from them by the sea. 
He had a vision of a new heaven and a new earth, and in the 
vision there was no more sea . 4 

Argumentation is the rhetorical mode that overcomes the 
isolating influence of individuality. The spiritual bond of 
fellowship is love. This is the social principle that interests 
the Self in the Other-Self; love reconciles individuality and 
society by developing the individual through society. The 
Biblical conception of the final condition of happiness is a 
city whose citizens have attained perfect individuality. To 
overcome isolation, to establish fellowship, to confirm indi- 
viduality by communion of thought and feeling is the function 
of argumentation. 

2. Phenomena of Consciousness. — Argumentation ad- 
dresses the Other-Self with the purpose of causing the Other- 
Self to know, to feel and to will. Every state of conscious- 
ness has three phases, — a cognitive phase through which we 
are aware of a thing, an emotional phase through which we 
feel interest in the thing, and a volitional phase through which 
we exercise the attentive and associating activities of the mind 
about the thing. These three phases of consciousness are 
knowledge, feeling and will. They are not different kinds 
of consciousness, but the essential and inseparable phases 
of every state of consciousness. These three phases are inter- 
dependent. An argument is addressed to us: we are aware 
of it; we feel interested in it; we will to give attention to it 
and so to extend our knowledge, to deepen our interest, and 
to strengthen our determination to know more about it. 

Phenomena of knowing, feeling, and willing appear to- 
gether, strengthening and deepening in the stream of con- 
sciousness. It is the function of argumentation to supply 
thought that shall make and modify and determine the char- 
acter of the stream of consciousness. 

Every state of consciousness has an element of knowledge ; 

3 Essay on “Experience.” 

8 Essay “Of Friendship.” 

4 The Revelation 2i, i. 


153 


this is the objective side of consciousness and it is a universal 
element because it is the same for every person. Every state 
of consciousness has, also, an element of feeling; this is the 
subjective side of consciousness, and it is an individual element 
because it is different for different persons. Every state of 
consciousness has, in addition, an element of will; this is a 
personal activity connecting knowledge and feeling in such a 
way as to give either a subjective or an objective emphasis, 
sublimating knowledge into feeling, or precipitating feeling 
into forms of knowledge. 

The effect in consciousness of Webster’s First Bunker Hill 
Oration shows a knowledge phase in the objective universal 
fact of Bunker Hill, a feeling phase in the subjective indi- 
vidual interest in the fact of Bunker Hill, and a will phase in 
the personal activity that relates the fact and the interest in 
the fact, deriving a resultant feeling that makes for patriotism. 

The effect in consciousness of an argument for the redress 
of grievous wrongs, shows a knowledge phase in the fact of 
the wrongs, a feeling phase in the interest stirred by the 
wrongs, and a will phase connecting fact and interest and de- 
riving a resultant feeling that projects itself in objective forms 
of knowledge, to the end that the wrongs shall be redressed. 

The three phases of consciousness are cultivated in differ- 
ent ways. We should seek to understand the nature of each 
phase in order properly to cultivate it and to correlate the 
elemental forces of composition so that they will work together 
with power. 

Kn owledg e . Knowledge is the raw material of composition. 
It IsTHe universal element, objective and invariable. Knowl- 
edge arises out of a deep consciousness of infinite reality. It 
is beautiful to us ; it is of eternal import to us ; it is too won- 
derful for us, yet it is our endless seeking; it is the longing 
and faith that make ambition ; it is the strength and the means 
of dominion; it is power. 

Concerning knowledge and man’s experience of it Solomon 
says, — 

“He hath made everything beautiful in its time: also He hath set 
eternity in their heart, yet so that men cannot find out the work that 
God hath done from the beginning even to the end.” 6 

“The spirit of man is the lamp of Jehovah, searching all his inner- 
most parts.” 6 

Ford Bacon quotes these passages and says, — 

“If then such be the capacity and receipt of the mind of man, it is 
manifest that there is no danger at all in the proportion or quantity of 
knowledge, how large soever, lest it should make it swell or out-compass 
itself; no, but it is merely the quality of knowledge, which be it in 


6 Ecclesiastes 3, 11. 
a Proverbs 20, 27. 


154 


quantity more or less, if it be taken without the true corrective thereof, 
hath in it some nature of venom or malignity, and some effects of that 
venom, which is ventosity or swelling. This corrective spice, the mix- 
ture whereof rnaketh knowledge so sovran, is charity, which the apostle 
immediately addeth to the former clause. For so he saith, ‘knowledge 
bloweth up, but charity buildeth up/ not unlike unto that which he 
delivereth in another place: ‘If I spake/ saith he, ‘with the tongues of 
men and angels, and had not charity, it were but as a tinkling cymbal/ ” r 

The limitations to human knowledge are stated by Bacon : 

“.Th e first , that we do not so place our felicity in knowledge, as we 
forget our" mortality. The second, that we make application of our 
knowledge to give ourselves repose and contentment, and not distaste 
or repining. The third,, that we do not presume by the contemplation of 
nature to attain to thelmysteries of God.” * 8 

Cultivate accuracy in knowledge, for inaccuracy is one of 
the gravest faults. Inaccuracy is a personal fault; it subverts 
reality. So far as we admit inexactness we detach language 
from its true function of expressing personal interpretations 
of truth. Vagueness and uncertainty and misconception 
result from inaccuracy, and these are troubles that grow as 
they go. Experience of the evils that result from things 
imperfectly known leads to an uncompromising demand for 
accuracy in knowledge. 

To say things it is necessary to think things. As the para- 
graph expresses a single thought-progression it is obviously 
desirable to fix the habit of thinking in paragraphs. If you 
think in wholes, you will be able to write. If you think in 
fragments, consciousness will be a lumber room, sweet with 
the redolence of thought, but intellectually vague and chaotic. 

Meditation places a qualitative and personal value upon 
knowledge. It is a process of intellectual activity by which 
mental images and the conclusions of reason are spiritually as- 
similated in consciousness. The accumulation of knowledge 
and feeling proceeds with deepening impressions until the will 
consciously acts upon these elements and meditation begins. 
This is the quest for wisdom. It ends in disappointment 
when we rest in second causes. Knowledge that does not 
rest in God is not wisdom. Of this danger that besets learn- 
ing Lord Bacon writes as follows : 

“Another error * * * is that after the distribution of particular 
arts and sciences, men have abandoned universality, or the prime 
philosophy; which cannot but cease and stop all progression. For no 
perfect discovery can be made upon a flat or a level; neither is it pos- 
sible to discover the more remote and deeper parts of any science, if 
you stand but upon the level of the same science, and ascend not to a. 
higher science.” 8 


1 “Advancement of Learning.” 

8 Ibid . 


155 


“II Penseroso” is a song of meditation. Milton invokes the 
companions of “divinest Melancholy,” calm Peace and Quiet, 
spare Fast, retired Leisure, mute Silence, and to these he adds 
Contemplation : 

“But, first and chief est, with thee bring 
Him that yon soars on golden wing, 

Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, 

The Cherub Contemplation.” u 

The cherub Contemplation is that divine attribute of the 
soul that transforms meditation into the passionate wonder of 
inspiration. The cherub Contemplation 

“Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.” 12 

Consciousness becomes suffused with light not wholly its own, 
and we breathe the air of a new morning. Inspiration is a 
transcendent quickening of consciousness. Thinking so spirit- 
ualized is invested with the power of the Highest. 

The Greeks pictured the imagination as Pegasus — a flying 
horse. They might have represented strong imagination as 
an eagle, the bird of Jove soaring with mighty wings, but they 
did not. It was neither a bird nor a horse, but an earth- 
treading creature with the wings of a bird. Pegasus was the 
creative imagination of a creature of the world. The power 
to give to airy nothing a local habitation, to make mere 
emotion an embodied joy, was represented in a creature of the 
two elements of air and earth. Imagination is not mere aspi- 
ration; it is not disembodied spirit, but life embodied. It is 
not air or earth separately, but both elements comprehended 
in a new creature. 

The function of imagination is not to create illusions, for 
these are not creatures of the world; it is not to formulate 
visionary things for these are materially impossible; it is 
rather to embody spiritual realities in ideal and possible forms 
of perfection. Imagination is not designed to be a casual 
activity, but a consistent, constructive force. It was a 
prophecy of the last and the best days, “Your old men shall 
dream dreams, your young men shall see visions .” 13 

Strong imagination has its springs of action in the nature 
of man, and therefore the proper effect of imagination is 
human interest. This emphasizes the usefulness of imagi- 
nation in argumentative composition, the processes of which 
have for their motive the development of human interest. 

This is wisdom, to understand rightly the embodied spiritual 
life of the world, to know God’s purposes in the things that 


11 “11 Penseroso,” 51-54. 

“ “Romeo and Juliet,” 3, 5, 10. 
18 Joel 2, 28. 


156 

are made, to think his thoughts after him, to feel his emotions 
after him and to use the creative power of imagination in 
giving to each emotion its own proper form. So the little 
world of consciousness will come to be a pattern of what the 
great world ought to be. 

Feeling. Feeling is personal and individual ; it varies with 
different persons and with the same person at different times. 
It suffuses consciousness with light or gloom, and under this 
influence knowledge is interpreted. 

A mother once brought her son to Sir Joshua Reynolds to 
become his pupil saying that the boy could paint his back- 
grounds. 

“He who can paint my backgrounds,” said Sir Joshua, “can 
paint my pictures.” 

As in the prophet’s vision of a valley of dry bones made alive 
by the breath of God, feeling transforms knowledge into 
organic life . 14 

The question of cultivating feeling is relative to the person, 
to his character and temperament. One person is too emo- 
tional and another is too stolid. If you are like Peter Bell 
follow the rules for the cultivation, of the poetic faculty. If 
you are a sentimental dreamer work by the day until your 
imagination is safely brought to earth again and common 
sense characterizes your thought and your composition. 

Will. Like the unhappiness of a country whose king is a 
child is the unhappy state of a person whose will is weak or 
vacillating. The inner consciousness is the place of the will. 
It is the war office, a portfolio room, a decision room, and an 
executive room. 

The portfolio of past decisions constitutes the first line of 
defense. There are great questions of practical, moral, and 
spiritual import that are current issues. Experience teaches 
the wisdom of deciding these questions beforehand, not leaving 
them to be decided under the stress of the moment when they 
present themselves for instant action. Living questions that 
present themselves to persons unprepared stir intellectual per- 
plexity and emotional ferment. Decisions made under these 
conditions are generally wrong. Be beforehand with such de- 
cisions. .The portfolio plans of the war office constitute pre- 
paredness for war. The men and women of principle are 
those whose decisions on these questions are made. They 
know what they would do in every exigency; no intellectual 
perplexity or insurgent emotion will threaten them. The port- 
folio decisions are the basis of stability in the individual life 
and in the community life. These decisions are confidently 
relied upon in all argumentation. 


14 Ezekiel 37, 1-10. 


157 


The decision room is an active place. The appeal of all 
argumentation is for decisions, and the aim of discipline is to 
develop clean, right decisions. The state of consciousness is 
naturally one of unstable equilibrium, in a twilight of reality 
and unreality, a confusion of good and evil influences. The 
motive of motives in human life is love. This it is that sees 
reality in the twilight and good in the confusion. Love is the 
sovereign Christian motive, which Bacon says is the corrective 
spice in all knowledge. Love develops self-control. In “The 
Taming of the Shrew” the wilfulness of Katherine through 
the influence of love in her life becomes self-controlled will. 
Argumentation addresses itself to the will, and in all kinds of 
argumentation the deep persuasiveness of this motive, call it 
what we will — love, benevolence, sympathy, kindness, — is the 
personal basis of confidence. The influence of it creates a 
sense of well-being, of clear atmospheres, of true values. It 
results in consistent volitional activities. 

To live in charity and to think clearly is to convince and 
persuade. It makes the inner consciousness the place of clean, 
right decisions. 

The will executes our conclusions. Among the powers of 
personality the will is the executive, and the nature of man 
and the nature of man’s work demand a strong executive. 
Stevenson says truly that we do not love life, but living. 
Strength of initiative conditions all achievement and the prime 
mover is the will. The American theory of government— -of 
the people, by the people, for the people — has its original in 
the relation of the will to all the powers of personal being. 
The will is the executive of the powers of the individual per- 
son. The will is the organic projection of these powers, by 
them, and for them; and the will so projected is strongest and 
best when each power is performing its own function in har- 
mony with all the rest. The executive strength of this organ- 
ism is the will. When all the powers of the soul, freed from 
destructive influences, perfectly perform their functions, the 
executive strength of these powers will be a perfect will. 

The will of an immortal being struggling against mortal con- 
ditions is the tragic theme of Poe’s “Ligeia.” 

3. Kinds of Argumentation.— The field of argumentation 
includes all composition in which direct personal relations are 
the prevailing conditions and the Other-Self the prime factor. 
This is a more extensive field than the word argumentation 
suggests ; in the narrow sense argumentation means the logical 
formulation of reasons showing the truth or falsity of a 
proposition ; it suggests debate and it has the atmosphere of 
controversy. But argumentation is a convenient rhetorical 
name for all composition in which the characteristic formu- 
lating influence is adaptation to the Other-Self. 




Argumentation may be written or spoken. Written argu- 
mentation includes Letter- Writing and Journalism. Spoken 
argumentation includes Conversation, Teaching, and Oratory. 

4. Letter- Writing. — Communication by letter has reached 
a volume and extent that has covered the earth with the lines 
of the mail service like a cobweb on the grass. The price of 
a postage stamp secures the transmission and delivery of a 
letter over areas of vast extent, by land and by sea, with 
expert and responsible agents whose duty it is to safeguard 
it under any and all conditions and to carry it under regu- 
lated control to its destination. This is one of the by-products 
of government, a service to the people so great that it is 
difficult to imagine, and all for the price of a postage stamp. 
Think of the vastness of the reach of it and you have a vision 
of the glory of motion, which in' the days of the stage-coach 
flashed upon DeQuincey like the flight of a fiery arrow. The 
burden of the mail was the news of Waterloo : 

“The half-slumbering consciousness that, all night long, and all the 
next day — perhaps for even a longer period — many of these mails, like 
fire racing along a train of gunpowder, will be kindling at every instant 
new successions of burning joy, has an obscure effect of multiplying the 
victory itself, by multiplying to the imagination into infinity the stages 
of its progressive diffusion. A fiery arrow seems to be let loose, which 
from that moment is destined to travel, without intermission, westwards 
for three hundred miles — northwards for six hundred ; and the sympathy 
of our Lombard Street friends at parting is exalted a hundredfold by a 
sort of visionary sympathy with the yet slumbering sympathies which in 
so vast a succession we are going to awake.” 15 

Letter-writing is a form of argumentation because the pur- 
pose of it is to influence the Other-Self in some determinate 
way. The name “correspondence” for communication by 
means of letters suggests that the relations of the Self and 
the Other-Self are sympathetic and mutual. A person writes 
to his friend with the whole composition tuned to the personal 
pitch of the friendly relation between them. If the letter is 
not read in the spirit of this friendly relation, it lacks the dis- 
tinctive effectiveness of argumentation. The letter always has 
the character of a personal communication. The dominant 
motive is not abstract thinking, or imaginative portrayal 
merely as such, but human interest rather that centers in the 
Other-Self. 

The Letter is a direct communication of one person to 
another by means of written composition. The plan of struc- 
ture underlying every corporate writing characterizes the 
Letter. There is an introduction which recognizes the Other- 
Self, and brings the subject to the attention of the Other-Self. 

15 DeQuincey, “The English Mail-Coach.” 


159 


There is a development which expresses the theme and estab- 
lishes the desired relationship of the thought to the Other- 
Self. There is a conclusion which emphasizes as the prime 
motive the human interest to the Other-Self. 

There are three kinds of letters that we need to study : 
personal letters, social letters, and business letters. Differ- 
ences arising from the relations of the Self and the Other-Self 
develop these three kinds of letters. Individual personal rela- 
tionships find a natural expression in the familiar, informal, 
and friendly tone of personal letters. Social relationships are 
based in conventional observance and usage and such rela- 
tionships find a natural expression in the courteous, formal 
and conventional tone of social letters. Business relationships 
are based in affairs and objective interests and such relation- 
ships find a natural expression in the concise practical tone of 
business letters. 

As letters are primarily social documents, whether they 
relate to personal, social, or business interests, they are subject 
to conventional forms and usage. Good use is a principle 
that underlies not only language but all of the collateral means 
of expression. 

Paper should be wnite, and unlined, and unperfumed; the 
envelope should be like the paper; the ink, whether of pen or 
typewriter, should be black. Handwriting should be so easilv 
legible that it does not attract attention to itself ; the principle 
of economy in interpretation demands clear handwriting; the 
clear, forceful composition of the mind may be rendered com- 
pletely ineffective by illegible handwriting. The function of 
handwriting is so much like that of printing that the tendency 
of it must always be towards conventionality. Eccentricities 
in handwriting develop unconsciously through the natural 
emanation of style, but such eccentricities should be wisely 
moderated and controlled. Eccentricities in handwriting are 
sometimes even cultivated, but like the phenomena of euphu- 
ism, like sophomoric style, like “fine writing, 1 ” they correspond 
in mental life to the diseases of children — not always to be 
avoided but certainly to be outgrown. That a person should 
develop eccentricities in handwriting that will increase the 
sorrows of his friend, is of course quite selfish. Viewing hand- 
writing as a machine for accomplishing a certain thing we mav 
profitably ask how much mental energy is - absorbed by the 
machine ; if the percentage of loss can be decreased by shaping 
the letters more carefully, by making better t’s and Ts and d’s ; 
by avoiding the confusion of u’s and n’s, and the lack of all 
literal detail in rampant impressionism, good sense will en- 
courage such improvement. 

Be afraid of mistakes in correspondence because of their 
serious consequences. The effect of a misspelled word is 


i6o 


scarcely less than that of an immoral thing. It is the fashion 
to brand the writer of a misspelled word with illiteracy. If 
this seems too radical a judgment and the reputation for 
illiteracy too severe a penalty — all for a misspelled word, you 
are subject nevertheless to these conditions. You are not so 
peculiar a person that you can get along without a dictionary 
on your table. It is ordinary p ruden ce in an important mat- 
ter to cultivate a habit of reference to the dictionary. 

The personal tone of correspondence gives it the character 
of the colloquial standard. Mistakes are more likely to be 
made than under the influences of the literary standard; the 
writer is not on guard in writing letters as he would be in 
writing a book. The mistakes made under such conditions 
are unconscious and therefore are revelations of personal 
deficiency. 

There are three kinds of v letters, personal letters, social 
letters, business letters. 

The kinds of letters should be kept distinct. Correspond- 
ence does not admit of merging the subject matter of personal, 
social, and business letters in one letter. Do not put friendly 
messages into business letters; do not attempt to graft upon 
the conventional formalism of social correspondence either 
the familiarity of personal letters or the practical matters of 
business letters; do not entrust business interests or social 
arrangements to personal letters, for such interests and ar- 
rangements are so subordinated by the informal and familiar 
character of personal letters that th*w are in danger of being 
overlooked. Serious consequences result from mixing the 
functions of letters. Personal letters, social letters, and busi- 
ness letters have distinctive functions. Do not mix them. 

The word correspondence implies two letters — a message 
and an answer. Fix the habit of answering at once. The 
habit of answering letters immediately is an important safe- 
guard to happiness ; it ministers alike to your neighbor and to 
yourself. A letter is based in a personal relation. It is 
obvious that a personal letter not answered disturbs this re- 
lation, that a business letter not answered jeopardizes interests 
of mutual concern, that a social letter not answered is an 
affront to society. 

Personal Letters . In personal correspondence the formu- 
lating influence is friendliness and fellowship. Conventional 
usage with respect to personal letters is explained by the 
friendliness and fellowship that characterize them. Such 
letters should be written by hand and with a pen rather than 
with a typewriting machine. The letters are personal and 
everything about them should deepen the personal effect. 
Hand-written letters are obviously more personal than ma- 


i6i 


chine-made letters. Personal letters should never be dictated 
or delegated to another to write unless the circumstances are 
so exceptional that they constitute the exception that proves 
the rule. 

The nature of the occasion is the key to the personal letter. 
Personal relationship which underlies all argumentation, and 
therefore all letters, gives the atmosphere of the colloquial 
standard. To the freedom of this fellowship the occasion 
offered by the conditions of the personal letter opens the deep 
vistas of thought. For the personal letter is native to the 
silences. Not in the business office, not in the drawing-room, 
but in retirement where without distraction the thought may' 
go a wandering out towards the Other-Self and deep into the 
realm of thought among the things friendship has found a 
common interest in — under such conditions the best literature 
is written. Passages of silent thought under the incentives 
of the most profound human interest will guide the mind into 
paths of pleasantness and peace, with the consciousness of 
fellowship like that of Bunyan’s Pilgrim in the country of 
Beulah, where the Shining Ones commonly walked because it 
was upon the borders of heaven. 

It was the opinion of DeQuincey that the best English is 
written in the personal letters of women : 

“Would you desire at this day to read our noble language in its 
native beauty, picturesque from idiomatic propriety, racy in its phrase- 
ology, delicate yet sinewy in its composition, steal the mail-bags, and 
break open all the letters in female handwriting. 

* * * Not impossibly these same women, if required to come for- 
ward in some public character, might write ill and affectedly. They 
would then have their free natural movement of thought distorted into 
some accommodation to artificial standards, amongst which they might 
happen to select a bad one for imitation. But in their letters they write 
under the benefit of their natural advantages ; not warped, on the one 
hand, into that constraint or awkwardness which is the inevitable effect 
of conscious exposure to public gaze; yet, on the other, not left to 
vacancy or the chills of apathy, but sustained by some deep sympathy 
between themselves and their correspondents. 

So far as concerns idiomatic English, we are satisfied, from the many 
beautiful female letters which we have heard upon chance occasions 
from every quarter of the empire, that they, the educated women of 
Great Britain, * * * and also (as in Constantinople of old) the 

nurseries of Great Britain, are the true and best depositaries of the old 
mother idiom.” 16 

Social Letters. In social correspondence extreme formal- 
ism prevails. The function of social letters is to minister to 
the needs of society in announcements, invitations, accept- 
ances, regrets, and in all formal social relations that might 
become the subject of correspondence. Conventionality pre- 


18 De Quincey, “Style.” 


scribes the forms of such letters. In all of these it is apparent 
that good manners and good sense are identical. 

Formal social letters designate the Self by name and not by 
a pronoun. All numerals are written out. Both of these 
usages promote clearness and accuracy. The details of social 
engagements are so important that every possible safeguard 
should be used to prevent mistakes. Pronouns are notorious 
offenders against clearness because they mean nothing apart 
from the name to which they refer; it is always prudent and 
advisable to repeat a noun rather than permit vagueness. 
There is a formal dignity about social letters like the con- 
ditions of an introduction, and these conditions make it natural 
to state at the beginning the name of the writer. All nu- 
merals are written out because figures are easily confused and 
misread. If they are written out there is no chance for error. 

Business Letters . The motive of a business letter is prac- 
tical. The diction, the tone, the logical character, the length, 
and the form should work together to fulfil the function of 
the letter. The purpose of the letter is at once a principle of 
selection and of unity. No word is used that does not further 
the purpose of the letter; the vocabulary is that of the best 
business usage ; the diction has an atmosphere that reflects the 
strength and directness of the colloquial standard, the ameni- 
ties of personal relationships, a well-bred dignity of tone and 
form, the personal influence of a heart of courtesy. A business 
style like this is worth cultivating, not as an artificial medium 
of expression, but the natural expression rather of the ethical 
principles on which commercial relations rest. 

A business letter should be as brief as the subject will 
permit. It begins with any needed acknowledgment of pre- 
vious correspondence referred to by specified date and never 
by the vague phrase “of recent date.” The reason for this is 
that business letters are a part of business transactions and 
they should be entirely definite in their character and specific 
in all their references. Clearness is the prime quality: word 
and sentence should contribute to this ; the paragraph should 
lift each thought-progression into distinctness. For purposes 
of filing and reference and to prevent confusion of different 
matters some persons write only one thing in a letter making 
each letter a simple unit. Three items of business would 
thus require three letters. Different matters of importance 
should not be committed to one letter except for obviously 
good reasons. 

5. Journalism. — The distinctiveness of journalism as a 
form of argumentation is shown by an inspection of the fac- 
tors — Self, Other-Self, Word, Thought, Occasion. The Self 


163 

is anybody — you or I — who possesses normal aptitude for 
newspaper work. The Other-Self is “the public ,, and this is 
a very important and distinctive factor. The Word is the 
language of the public, current good English — in 1840 De 
Quincey thought the style of English newspapers too bookish ; 
in America the style has tended to become too colloquial. 
The Thought concerns the whole field of public interests — a 
realm of wide and considerably exact knowledge. The 
Occasion is a distinctive factor, a present event constituting 
a crisis of interest and an opportunity. The distinctiveness 
then of journalism may be studied in the nature of the Other- 
Self and of the Occasion. 

The Other-Self is the Public. The Public was created with 
the modern newspaper. The Other-Self shows interesting 
variation from age to age ; in the middle ages he was a recluse, 
a venerable man; in the seventeenth century he was a pic- 
turesque gentleman with a severe countenance ; in the 
eighteenth century we like to think of him as the Gentle 
Reader; now he is in common thought the Public. This em- 
phasizes the influence of the newspaper, which is vitally 
related to the public both as cause and effect. The newspaper 
both expresses and moulds public opinion. 

The Occasion is made by the relationship between the 
journalist and the public. Concerning the journalist Mr. 
Charles A. Dana said, — 

“He must know what the people think ; he must know what they feel, 
and he must speak their ideas, or his whole work will be in vain. There 
is no question but that the atmosphere of freedom is essential to the 
production of a first rate newspaper.” 17 

The relationship between the journalist and the public is one 
of fellowship and freedom. In spite of all abuse the news- 
paper is received everywhere and at all times. Year after year 
we read our daily paper ; we read and we criticize, yet we turn 
with a sense of fellowship to the columns of our own news- 
paper and have for it a feeling of trust. The Occasion is made, 
also, by the state of the public mind, tranquil or expectant, or 
feverish, or apathetic, or aroused and clamorous ; at times the 
journalist is the companion of quietness ; at times he ministers 
to a mind diseased ; at times he averts panic, he restores confi- 
dence ; always he should be a strong still man— a master of the 
time. The Occasion is conditioned by the passing of the news. 
Momentariness is the attendant spirit of journalism. A 
journalist says, — 

“To think rightly, to think instantly, to think incessantly, to think 

17 Charles Anderson Dana (1819-1897), “The Art of Newspaper Mak- 
ing,” New York, Appleton, 1895. 


K + 


intensely, to seize opportunities when others let them go by — this is the 
secret of success in journalism.” 18 

This spirit of momentariness that inspires the Occasion dis- 
ciplines the journalist into a man of action. It moulds com- 
position also : not to write the whole story in the first sentence 
is to fail. 

Nothing is read so much as the newspaper. The newspaper 
is printed on both sides of a continuous roll of paper running 
between the type cylinders at the rate of six miles an hour, 
and left by the machine cut and folded and counted in piles 
for distribution at so small a price that everybody buys and 
reads the news. In successive issues and editions the news is 
imprinted on the public mind in a stream line of mental im- 
pressions. 

The importance of journalism under a popular government 
with a free press is well indicated by Mr. Roosevelt as follows : 

“The man who writes, the man who month in and month out, week 
in and week out, day in and day out, furnishes the material which is to 
shape the thoughts of our people, is essentially the man who more than 
any other determines the character of the people and the kind of 
government this people shall possess.” 19 

Journalism presents two quite distinct kinds of compo- 
sition — News and Editorials. The News is narration and the 
Editorials are exposition. Both of these are formulated under 
the motive of public interest and this motive makes them 
argumentation. 

News. The news is so much of what is new as is un- 
usual and of public concern. There are two elements in this 
definition: the first element is expressed in the unusual ; the 
second element is expressed in public concern . 

Mr. Dana is quoted as saying, “When a dog bites a man, 
that is not news, but when a man bites a dog that is news.” 
This whimsically suggests the importance of the unusual. 
The second element is the vital one. An event is not “news” 
_ unless it is of public concern. A newspaper published in the 
City of Washington has relatively large space given to local 
news, and very many names of Washington people. Both of 
these features appeal strongly to the readers of the paper. 
News is valuable just to the extent that readers of the paper 
are interested in it. Public concern is the measure of value. 

A well written news * story is not merely a portrayal of 
events like a photograph, but an interpretation like a portrait. 
This interpretation is not made by inference and generaliza- 

18 Joseph Pulitzer (1847-1911), “The College of Journalism,” North 
American Review, May, 1904. 

19 Theodore Roosevelt. Quoted in “North American Review,” May, 
1904. 


tion as in exposition, but by selection and grouping. Of the 
thousand things that happened only a few are used. The 
selection reveals the principle of association and the objects 
of emphasis. The human interest in events is an incentive 
to self-expression, and the resultant personal influences give 
the story character and power. This is all essential; it is not 
done by emotion, opinion, or comment; it is a picture as the 
news writer saw it. Two men write the same story; both of 
them follow the same conventional plan of structure; the 
stories are different and one is better than the other ; and the 
public for whom the stories are written remember one and 
forget the other. The news writer shapes public opinion in 
a more subtile way than the editorial writer. Selection, em- 
phasis, and tone implant the meaning in the very heart of the 
story. 

The theory of composition of a news story is an inverted 
periodic structure. There is no suspense; the whole thing is 
told at once. Examine the stories in the daily papers and you 
will find that the first sentence summarizes the story. A typical 
structure is as follows : first, a summarizing sentence ; second, 
an amplifying sentence or paragraph ; third, effects and causes ; 
fourth, circumstances and details. The news story tells the 
gist of the whole at the beginning, and then tells the story 
again with amplification and details. This structure is the 
more significant because it has developed naturally and without 
design. The news writer tells his story with the public con- 
sciously present. The news so written is quickened by per- 
sonal influences, and the deepening interest gives an emotional 
mould to the structure. The story is told at once with im- 
pulsive directness. Then it is told more fully, in a detailed 
and leisurely way. 

The exclamatory structure of news stories has practical 
utility. In making up the paper it is often necessary to make 
a place for late stories and to bring the copy of these stories 
within the available space. With the news story written in 
the exclamatory structure all that is necessary to shorten the 
story is to leave as much off of the end as the occasion re- 
quires. If the first sentence stands, the statement of the story 
is complete. 

Editorials . An editorial is a little essay on a current topic 
so modified as to appeal to the public. This appeal to the 
public gives it the character of argumentation. It is usually 
substantive exposition for the cultivation of true views of 
public questions. The genius of the editorial is substantive 
ideas; nouns stand like great presences in the midst of the 
composition. The current interest of the editorial and the 
fact that it is read during the occasional short intervals of 
busy days have an effect upon its structure. First, it has no 


i66 


introduction, because the subject is already present in the 
consciousness of the reader. Second, it is short . because 
totality of effect depends upon its being read at one time, and 
the available time for reading is short. Third, it has simple 
unity, because experience shows that to say one thing so that 
it cannot be misunderstood is all that it is wise to attempt. 

It is natural for the office that receives the news to send out 
opinions. The facts that constitute the news form the basis 
of inductive reasoning leading to conclusions in the mind of 
the editor, who sits at the center where all the lines of news 
converge. The editor has facts and experience and sagacity 
and a trained mind. His attitude is judicial; he is a minister 
of truth set in a place of vantage, and his opinions sent forth 
as editorials have authority that comes quite as much from 
his place of vantage at the center of things as it does from the 
weight of his own name. It is only in exceptional cases that 
the editorial gains anything from being signed. To sign it 
is to divest it of the dignity of the editorial office in order to 
invest it with a name. The unsigned editorial is not divested 
of personality ; on the contrary it is doubly invested with the 
authority of the unnamed editor and with the authority also 
of the newspaper — a corporate Self of weight and dignity. 
The authority of an editorial, signed or not, is conditioned by 
the reputation of the newspaper. 

Qualifications of a Reporter. Memory is indispensable. 
A man without this faculty should cultivate it by persistent 
exercise and by memoranda and by habits of specific obser- 
vations. It is necessary to remember names ; persist in noting 
and recalling names until they are fixed in mind. The ad- 
vantage that comes from calling a man by his name is too 
important to forego. Cultivate a memory of important things, 
within the range of your own field of action; cultivate a 
memory of conversations until you can write accurate inter- 
views from memory. 

Accuracy is important. The discipline of general educa- 
tion should give habits of exact thinking and clear-cut accu- 
racy of expression. Think a thing through without being 
diverted; see the important things and do not lose sight of 
them. Do not permit yourself to think vaguely. Think in 
propositions, and then write exactly what you wish ^o say, 
and do not be satisfied with saying it pretty nearly. This 
quest for accuracy begins in the search for news long before 
the actual composition. Habits of accuracy once formed will 
make it possible for you to work accurately under stress and 
hurry. A chief fault in newspapers is inaccuracy in stories 
both in the general impression and in details. Get the facts; 
get them accurately, and show their true relations to each 
other and to the public. 


Mr. Pulitzer says, — 

“Give me a news editor who has been well grounded, who ha: the 
foundations of accuracy, love of truth and an instinct for the public 
service, and there will be no trouble about his gathering the news.”" 

Efficiency is important. The life of a reporter requires 
initiative, action, accomplishment. Every man in his own 
sphere exercises a kind of sovereignty: he legislates, judges, 
executes ; he administers things in his own way and is asked 
only for results. To be known as a man who when given an 
assignment will see it through to a satisfactory conclusion is 
to be known well in journalism. 

Geniality is important. The recluse, the unsocial person, 
the pessimist lacks temperamental fitness for journalism. The 
man who serves the public should embody the racial qualities 
and human interest of the public. In his presence men should 
feel his friendliness, should find it easy to talk with him and to 
confide in him. This relationship should rest in real and not 
assumed geniality. The really genial man is the social unit. 
The news all comes to him ; it is for him to discriminate be- 
tween what is public information and what is private, between 
what is news and what is not. The good reporter will not 
betray a trust, will not abuse confidence. That man is best 
furnished with news who through personal relationships and 
good fellowship receives without reservation a full account 
of current interests. Such a man is able to deal justly and 
faithfully with the public and with his friends. 

Character is fundamentally important. It is implied in all 
qualifications. Punctuality, subordination, magnanimity, cour- 
tesy, sagacity to appreciate the character of others, — all these 
are expressions of character. Concerning this Mr. Pulitzer 
says, — * 

“News is important — it is the very life of a paper. But what is life 
without character? What is the life of a nation or of an individual 
without honor, without heart and soul? 

Above knowledge, above news, above intelligence, the heart and soul 
of a paper lie in its moral sense, in its courage, its integrity, its. 
humanity, its sympathy for the oppressed, its independence, its devotion 
to the public welfare, its anxiety to render public service. 

Without these there may be smart journalists, but never a truly 
great or honorable one.”* 1 

Preparation of Copy. Reporter’s copy is written on one 
side only of unruled paper in sheets usually six by nine inches. 
A pencil — if the lead be soft and black, a pen, or a typewriter 
may be used. Newspapers generally supply typewriting 
machines recommending that copy be typewritten. It is im- 

— r ^ 

* “North American Review,” May, 1904. 

u Jbid. 


1 68 


portant that the reporter be able to use the typewriter, but he 
need not be a stenographer for shorthand reporting is a 
special business and the copy for verbatim reports in the news- 
papers is generally supplied. Copy that is written by a dig- 
nified, well-dressed, courteous person, not ostentatiously pro- 
fessional in manner, but quite gentlemanly and refined, is 
likely to have a well-bred effect about it for copy and dress 
and manner have the same source in character. The person 
expresses himself in all of these things. He is rather particu- 
lar about the appearance of his copy, about good form and 
neatness, about spelling and punctuation, about barbarisms 
a nd i mproprieties and soled sms, and all of the details of 
composition. The influence of style makes itself felt even in 
the remote associations of the medium of expression. There 
is an informing spirit in the language also working itself out, 
and the diction clears itself and simplifies until the story is as 
thin as a skirmish line and as strong as a battle line. 

History. American journalism began with the theory that 
the editorial is the prime factor in the newspaper. Horace 
Greeley during the Civil War . was the personal projection of 
this theory. In the editorial chair of the New York Tribune 
he wrote editorials that expressed and moulded public opinion 
and much of the dignity of the sovereign people hedged about 
the great editor of the Tribune. 

The personality of Greeley looms large and impressive 
among the men of that period. There could be no more im- 
pressive suggestion of the power of Greeley’s pen than is 
embodied in Lincoln’s reply of August 22, 1862, to an open 
letter of Greeley’s in the Tribune. Lincoln measured swords 
with him before the people. 

“Go west, young man,” had a kind of oracular authority 
that echoes still. 

He wielded a power so great that it was but natural for him 
to aspire to the presidency: the disappointment of failure 
shortened his life. 

The second stage in the development of the American news- 
paper began with the theory that the newspaper exists pri- 
marily to give the news. James Gordon Bennett of the New 
York Herald was the personal projection of this theory. He 
established special agencies for the transmission of news; he 
inaugurated enterprises for the creation of news. It was in 
1871 that he sent Stanley into Central Africa to find Living- 
stone, a mission so successful that it is Bennett’s chief claim 
to remembrance. 

The third stage in the development of the American news- 
paper began with a theory of style. Like the eighteenth cen- 
tury essayists who set to work to improve the age by proper 


169 

standards of style — remembering that Augustus found Rome 
brick and left it marble, Charles A. Dana of the New York 
Sun. sought nO new elements but undertook to refine the old 
ones. The New York"" Saw came to be spoken of as the best 
edited paper in the country. Things were done that could be 
accounted for only by high standards. Editorials and news 
columns expressed a chastening influence; the Sun was read 
for its style and this fact was always noted with a personal 
tribute to Mr. Dana. In an address before the Wisconsin 
Editorial Association, July 24, 1888, Mr. Dana recommended 
the following code of principles: 

I. Get the news, get all the news, and nothing but the news. 

II. Copy nothing from another publication without perfect credit. 

III. Never print an interview without the knowledge and consent of 

the party interviewed. 

IV. Never print a paid advertisement as news matter. Let every 

advertisement appear as an advertisement; no sailing under 
false colors. 

V. Never attack the weak or the defenseless, either by argument, 
by invective, or by ridicule, unless there is some absolute pub- 
lic necessity for so doing. 

VI. Fight for your opinions, but do not believe that they contain 
the whole truth or the only truth. 

VII. Support your pai£y, if you have one. But do not think all the 
good men are in it and all the bad ones outside of it. 

VIII. Above all, know and believe that humanity is advancing; that 
there is progress in human life and human affairs; and that, 
as sure as God lives, the future will be greater and better 
than the present or the past. 22 

The fourth stage in the evolution of the American news- 
paper seems something like the- French Revolution. It is 
Yellow journalism. Mr. Pulitzer of the New York World 
and Mr. Hearst of the New York Journal, developed this new 
theory of power. The newspaper which is the creature of The 
public should express all the news in such a way that the 
lowest stratum and the outer edge of the body politic shall stir 
to* the call of it. Only elemental emotions and simple ideas 
constitute a call that everybody is able to understand. This 
is a call that offends the classes; good taste stops its ears 
against it, but it is the only cry that reaches the lower levels, 
and the yellow journals are the only papers along the wharves 
on West Street. 

The fiftft stage in the evolution of the American newspaper 
is yet to come. It will be constructive building upon founda- 
tions already laid. There are principles recognized by the 
“yellow” journals that must prevail: these principles are, first, 
a clearer recognition than before that journalism is argumen- 

22 “The Modern American Newspaper” in “The Art of Newspaper 
Making,” Charles A. Dana, New York, Appleton, 1895. 


170 


tation with its characteristic quality in an appeal to the Other- 
Self ; second, a clearer recognition than before that the main- 
springs of power in journalism are the universal motives that 
actuate humanity. In the “yellow” journals the personal 
factor flames forth in emotional appeal and sensationalism; 
and the intellectual and moral factor appears in dramatic con- 
trasts of good and evil in melodramatic relief. The principles 
will endure and will purge themselves of passion and senti- 
mentality and anarchy; the “yellow” feature will be seen to 
be accidental and not essential, and the primary appeal to the 
Other-Self and the primary use of universal motives will 
awaken responses in all sorts and conditions of men. The 
thinking that goes to the bottom without exclusiveness or 
prejudice or fear, the motives that go back to the little child 
with faith and hope and love, — these will surely abide and 
prevail. The quest for truth is the only quest that will last 
through until the end. The press that adequately serves this 
government of the people, by the people, for the people must 
voice the common sense and the common sympathies of all the 
people. 

There are two sides to the newspaper question, the business 
side and the professional side. It is a matter of millions to 
finance a great newspaper and as a rule the monied interests 
that control such a newspaper administer it in such a wav that 
it shall foster the business interests that run it. This is natural 
but it is not patriotic and it destroys the freedom of the press. 
Newspapers are frequently bought and sold and often, it 
would seem, as the organs of special interests. Opinions are 
the subjects of barter and newspapers like advocates may be 
retained. These are the forces against a free press and they 
constitute a grave danger, the more to be feared because the 
forces are hidden. But the voices of freedom will never be 
silenced in a land like ours. The journalists are professional 
men; they recognize and observe the ethics of the profession. 
Influence with the public depends upon idealism. Journalists 
work under authority and sometimes within limitations that 
are incompatible with professional ideals. The conflict be- 
tween the individual an<J the corporate interests is not in its 
deeper aspect hopeless for the individual ; in the long run the 
journalist is sure to win. The public — “the People” of the 
Constitution — and the journalist will rise or fall together. 
And the people are coming up. 

The people are becoming more interested in journalism as 
a profession. Notwithstanding retarding influences to the 
effect that journalistic education is impracticable, reports show 
from year to year an increasing number of schools of journal- 


ism. In the following view the journalist is a publicist whose 
formal education is of great importance: 

“What is a College of Journalism? It is an institution to train 
journalists. What is a journalist? Not any business manager or pub- 
lisher, or even proprietor. A journalist is the lookout on the bridge of 
the ship of state. He notes the passing sail, the little things of interest 
that dot the horizon in fine weather. He reports the drifting castaway 
whom the ship can save. He peers through fog and storm to give warn- 
ing of dangers ahead. He is not thinking of his wages, or of the profits 
of his owners. He is there to watch over the safety and the welfare of 
the people who trust him. 

Few. men in the business office of a newspaper know anything about 
the principles of journalism. The proprietor himself is not necessarily 
a journalist He may be, if he is capable of understanding public ques- 
tions, of weighing public interests, of carrying out public tasks ; if he is 
in touch, with public feeling, realizes public duties, is in sympathy with 
the public welfare, and is capable of presenting his ideas to the people, 
either by his own pen or by the pens of others.” 23 

-6. Conversation. — Conversation means talking together: 
it does not mean for one person to do all the talking. Con- 
versation brings the Self and the Other-Self into immediate 
personal relations face to face, and in this it is essentially 
argumentation. Talking and listening are the correlative 
phases of conversation ; to talk well and to listen well are ac- 
complishments to be cultivated for conversation is an art. 
Conversation is the training-ground of kindness, of truth, 
and of manners. The impulses of kindness and the thirst for 
truth lead to conversation, and conversation reacts to promote 
kindness, to confirm the desire for truth, through a mode of 
self-expression in which the usual medium of language is re- 
inforced by the great expressiveness of manners. 

Kindness . Conversation is a social product. The nature 
of man cries out against loneliness ; in his very nature it is , 
written that it is not good for him to be alone. Love which 
is the basic principle of our spiritual life expresses itself to- 
wards our own kind in kindness: it appears in consciousness 
in a sense of fullness and is a going out of the Self benevo- 
lently towards mankind. Argumentation which has for its 
primary motive the Other-Self, is *most fully realized when 
the Self and the Other-Self look into each other’s eyes and 
speak to one another. Conversation is intensive argumen- 
tation. 

Other-mindedness is the key to conversation. From your 
first approach to the Other-Self you seek not your own inter- 
ests but his interests, his welfare, his pleasure. You help the 
Other-Self to feel that the Occasion exists for him. This idea 
makes conversation the realm of kindness. Knowledge is an 

23 Joseph Pulitzer, “North American Review, May, 1904. 


1 72 


important factor i p. conversation, but knowledge without kind- 
ness is selfish and futile. Spiritual insight is a rare, fine qual- 
ity, but without kindness it cannot influence the Other-Self. 
Emerson says, — 

“Everything that is called fashion and courtesy humbles itself before 
the cause and fountain of honor, creator of titles and dignities, namely, 
the heart of love. This is the fire, which, in all countries and contin- 
gencies, will work after its kind, and conquer and expand all that ap- 
proaches it. This gives new meanings to every fact.” 24 

Truth. A law of truth like gravitation force appears in 
all thinking and conversation feels the drift of it. Like the 
equatorial currents of the world and the breath of the trade 
winds, conversation follows the sweet influences of truth. To 
discover this in experience is an important part of a liberal 
education. They discovered it in the London coffee-houses 
in the eighteenth century. Addison wrote in the “Spec- 
tator” : 

“There is nothing, says Plato, so delightful as the hearing or the 
Speaking of truth. For this reason there is no conversation so agreeable 
as that of the man of integrity who hears without any intention to 
betray and speaks without any intention to deceive.” 25 

Truth confirms and dignifies individuality: it is truth that 
makes us free. In this respect it is the counterpoise to love: 
where love is a centrifugal, radiating energy, truth is a cen- 
tripetal conserving influence. Truth begets self-respect. 
Emerson says, — 

“I prefer a tendency to stateliness, to an excess of fellowship. Let 
the incommunicable objects of nature and the metaphysical isolation of 
man teach us independence. Let us not be too much acquainted. I 
would have a man enter his house through a hah filled with heroic and 
sacred sculptures, that he might not want the hint of tranquillity and 
self-poise.” 28 

There are charter rights that go with truth: reason defers 
to it and will not be arrayed against it. This will explain the 
dominating and authoritative effect of the talk of some great 
men. There are men of vision whose conversation leads along 
the heights that face the deep horizon of truth. Coleridge 
was such a man. 

“I have known,” said Wordsworth, “many men who have 
done wonderful things, but the only wonderful man I ever 
saw was Coleridge.” 

24 Essay on “Manners.” 

25 Joseph Addison (1672-1719), “The Spectator,” No. 55, Monday, 
June 21, 1714. 

28 Essay on “Manners ” 


i73 


Conversation crystallizes thinking. Thought is developed 
and made clear by putting it into words ; this is the basic use- 
fulness of the recitation system in education. Conversation 
projects more or less vague thinking into specific words and 
the definiteness of these words helps to clarify ideas and shape 
them into distinct forms of knowledge. 

Progress in thinking depends much on the incentives of sug- 
gestion, and the action and reaction of one mind on another 
initiates many ideas which except for conversation would not 
be suggested at all. It is entirely conceivable that conversa- 
tion may sometimes result in greater progress in thinking than 
either the Self or the Other-Self could have accomplished 
alone. To put thinking into words gives to thinking strength 
and range and efficiency; to put thinking into conversation 
gives to thinking yet greater strength and range and efficiency. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote the Breakfast Table books 
in the style of conversation. Concerning the thought-content 
of conversation he said: 

“I really believe some people save their bright thoughts, as being too 
precious for conversation. What do you think an admiring friend said 
the other day to one that was talking good things, — good enough to 
print? ‘Why/ said he, ‘you are wasting merchantable literature, a cash 
article, at the rate, as nearly as I can tell, of fifty dollars an hour/ The 
talker took him to the window and asked him to look out and tell what 
he saw. 

“ ‘Nothing but a very dusty street/ he said, ‘and a man driving a 
sprinkling-machine through it.’ 

“ ‘Why don’t you tell the man he is wasting that water ? What would 
be the state of the highways of life, if we did not drive our thought- 
sprinklers through them with the valves open, sometimes? 

“ ‘Besides, there is another thing about this talking, which you forget. 
It shapes our thoughts for us ; the waves of conversation roll them as 
the surf rolls the pebbles on the shore/ ” 27 

In university, college, and school the personal associations 
of students have facilitated their quest of truth. Associate 
students anywhere in fraternal ties, afford opportunities for 
conversation about the subjects they are studying together, 
and as they talk with one another their vision of truth will 
grow. 

Manners. Manners have their origin in kindness and truth. 
Kindness is of the heart and truth is of the mind ; kindness is 
personal and particular — the touch of nature that makes the 
whole world kin. Truth is ideal and universal — the cry in 
everything for perfection: 


” “The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table/’ Ch. 2. 


174 


“That God, which ever lives and loves, 

One God, one law, one element, 

And one far-off divine event, 

To which the whole creation moves.” 28 

Love and idealism are the two aspects of one experience ; they 
are experienced as organic unity in the consciousness of one 
person. This is the origin of manners. Gentle expresses 
their origin and interprets the phrase good breeding; civil ex- 
presses their function and gives us their product in civilization . 
The love that makes us servants and the truth that makes 11s 
free are expressed together in manners. 

In Philip Sidney’s “Arcadia,” Palladius is described in a 
passage that leaves us thinking of Sidney himself — in an age 
of great men remembered as a Christian gentleman : 

For, having found in him (besides his bodily gifts, beyond the degree 
of admiration), by daily discourses, which he delighted himself to have 
with him, a mind of most excellent composition, a piercing wit quite 
void of ostentation, high-erected thoughts seated in a heart of courtesy, 
an eloquence as sweet in the uttering as slow to come to the uttering, a 
behaviour so noble as gave a majesty to adversity, and all in a man 
whose age could not be above one-and-twenty years. 29 

There is a landscape in Arcadia that is a parable of man- 
ners, the pleasant converse of men and women amid genial 
influences : 

“There were hills which garnished their proud heights with stately 
trees; humble valleys whose base estate seemed comforted with the 
refreshing of silver rivers ; thickets which, being lined with most pleas- 
ant shade, were witnessed so to, by the cheerful disposition of many 
well-tuned birds; each pasture stored with sheep, feeding with sober 
security, while the pretty lambs, with bleating oratory, craved the dam’s 
comfort : here a shepherd’s boy piping, as though he should never be 
old; there a young shepherdess knitting, and withal singing: and it 
seemed that her voice comforted her hands to work, and her hands kept 
time to her voice-music. As for the houses of the country — for many 
houses came under their eye — they were all scattered, no two being one 
by the other, and yet not so far off as that it barred mutual succour ; a 
show, as it were, of an accompanable (companionable), solitariness, and 
of a civil wildness.” 80 

Conversation arises naturally out of the occasion. Within 
the limitations and the scope of the occasion it is conditioned 
by the relations between the Self and the Other-Self. Good 
conversation has four characteristics. 

First, spontaneity. This comes from the fact that the oc- 
casion is the immediate cause, presenting an opportunity for 
instant action. The occasion at once releases forces in con- 

28 Tennyson, “In Memoriam.”' 

29 Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586), “Arcadia.” 

80 Ibid. 


175 


sciousness which find unpremeditated and spontaneous ex- 
pression in conversation. 

Second, colloquial traits . These colloquial traits are im- 
pressionism, iteration, abruptness, hyperbole. They develop 
naturally out of the spontaneous character of conversation, 
and out of the fact that self-expression, under the conditions 
of conversation, is the joint product of language, looks, 
gestures, and immediate personal influences. 

Third, purpose. In its rhetorical character conversation is 
prose, a product 'of reason with a well-defined purpose to make 
truth known, and an active principle of selection which insures 
the utility of all that is said. This purpose should control the 
conversation in a deep and unobtrusive way. It should not 
lessen spontaneity; it should not interfere with emotion and 
imagination that express experiences of warmth and beauty. 
Conversation should manifest that deep control that shows the 
allegiance of a rational moral being to truth. This is the 
freedom under law which is the excellence of prose. 

Fourth, enth usiasm . This enthusiasm manifests itself 
either in vivacity or in earnestness. It is the deep fire of the 
affinity of the soul and truth. He who talks about his personal 
experience of truth will talk with enthusiasm, and such en- 
thusiasm is infectious. It makes real conversation. 

Conversation actuated by kindness and the love of truth 
affects the Self in four ways: first, a sense of confidence in 
the Other-Self; second, a sense of personal well-being; third, 
a quickening of invention and judgment; fourth, a conscious 
girding of the Self for action. 

Guard the integrity of motive in conversation. We talk 
about the interests we have in common; our returns are in 
direct ratio to our investments ; what we put into conversation 
will determine what we get out of it. Actual conversation 
differs from ideal conversation chiefly because the ideal motive 
is unselfish and its formulating principle kindliness to the 
Other-Self, and the actual motive is often selfish. Nearly all 
the faults of conversation arise from selfishness. 

Talk under the usual conditions of community life begins in 
conventional themes assumed to be of mutual concern. We 
live under the same sky while the hours go by, hence we 
speak of the weather and pass the time of day. We are mem- 
bers of a social and political order, hence we speak pleasantly, 
ask the news, and talk of current events. Common chords of 
thought deepen our mutual sympathies and develop a congen- 
ial sense of good fellowship. The distinctive character of 
conversation comes from the nature of the occasion promoting 
fellowship. We may say of the conversationalist what Cole- 
ridge says of Shakespeare: ‘Tn Shakespeare one sentence 


f 

176 

begets the next naturally; the meaning is all inwoven. He 
goes on kindling like a meteor through the dark atmosphere /* 31 

The Weather Phase. All men experience the weather in 
common. It is natural that conversation should begin on this 
ever present theme of real concern. In most cases it is used 
in a preliminary way, either as a greeting between friends or 
as a means of mutual adjustment between strangers. A sub- 
ject that figures so largely in our speech should receive such 
serious consideration as will insure a right use of it. When 
the weather in conversation is a means to an end we should 
use it without abuse ; when it is an end in itself our sentiment 
about it should be worthy of ourselves. Do not speak of the 
weather in a complaining way. It is as easy to fix a habit 
of appreciation as of depreciation, and appreciation is philo- 
sophically sound and personally comforting. The weather is 
a creature of that law which is the harmony of the world. 

“A great while ago the world begun. 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain.” 82 

The News Phase . Conversation progresses in a tentative 
way seeking common ground of interest. The second phase 
of this advance is usually some matter of personal knowledge 
possessing a considerable degree of present interest. This 
phase of conversation deals with facts without involving 
opinions. 

It may be inauguration week in Washington that is absorb- 
ing the minds of men. It may be election returns, or the 
Panama canal, or some new engineering enterprise ; it may be 
base-ball, or foot-ball, or yachting, or motoring; it may be a 
new philanthropy, or new facts about the trusts, or a scien- 
tific discovery. It may be any subject of a picturesque char- 
acter treated in the current magazines. This phase treats of 
facts embodying curious interest. The strength of the appeal 
is in the universal thirst for news. 

The Expository Phase. This phase of conversation natu- 
rally follows acquaintance and mutual congeniality. In con- 
versation we express and we hear not only facts but opinions, 
and in this way we experience to a very large degree the 
dynamics of mental growth. It is in expository conversation 
that we are scientists and philosophers together, studying 
phenomena and meditating upon the meaning of things. It is 
in such conversation that we debate and preach and teach and 
influence one another in the informal ways of personal fellow- 

81 Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834), “Table Talk,” April 7, 1833. 

83 “Twelfth Night” 5, 1, 414. 


177 


ship. This is the realm of politics, of economics, of sociology, 
of ethics, of religion. Citizenship develops responsible inter- 
est in the problems of civilization and all of these problems 
appear in the field of conversation. Men of all temperaments, 
engaged in different callings, holding different opinions, have 
the opportunities of such conversation. Among the talkers 
we find mingled together the publicists, the scientists, the 
philosophers, the practical men of affairs. And the oppor- 
tunity for mutual benefit in such conversation is incalculably 
great. 

The processes of such conversation are those of exposition. 
The premises should be clear and should be mutually ac- 
ceptable. The processes of reasoning should be simple and 
without perplexity. The conclusions should be stated without 
assertiveness, and with that personal deference that trusts 
alike to reason and the judgment of another. This should not 
be merely the promptings of good policy but the impulsiveness 
of kindness and a well grounded confidence in our fellow men. 
Such fellowship makes it possible for two persons holding dif- 
ferent opinions to discuss those opinions with mutual respect 
and esteem, and to experience also through the good offices of 
reason the moulding influences of truth. 

The Social Phase. The art of conversation is nowhere so 
impressive as in the social phase. The elements of thought 
and of human interest are so mingled in effects of style that 
the conversation is organic. It moves with ease and grace 
and naturalness. It develops atmosphere. It has colors of 
light, sounds of melody, fragrance of fresh flowers and odors 
of spicery. It experiences the friendly offices of reason, and 
it has visions of truth. 

A kindly question suggests a subject that brings cordial 
response, and instantly the path of conversation leads into a 
pleasant field. The air is genial and the mind discovers re- 
sources of sensuous and transcendent beauty. Conversation 
that proceeds unselfishly will not develop personalities, will 
not offend the taste, will not provoke sharp differences, will 
not make abrupt changes. Social conversation ruffles no one, 
does not interfere with the charm of the drawing-room or the 
pleasures of the table. It has respect for religion and politics 
and the sacred rights of individuality. Such conversation 
adds to all the elements of association the quintessence that 
is a perfect elixir and solvent for them all. 

In a poem that breathes the sweetness of his own character 
George Herbert wrote: 


i7« 


“Entice all neatly to what they know best : 

For so thou dost thyself and him a pleasure 
(But a proud ignorance will lose his rest, 

Rather than show his cards) : steal from his treasure 
What to ask further. Doubts well-raised do lock 
The speaker to thee, and preserve thy stock. 

If thou be master-gunner, spend not all 
That thou canst speak, at once; but husband it, 

And give men turns of speech : do not forestall 
By lavishness thine own and others’ wit, 

As if thou mad’st thy will. A civil guest 
Will no more talk all, than eat all the feast.” 83 

The letters of Lord Chesterfield contain much interesting 
and valuable advice about conversation. He is shrewdly prac- 
tical and worldly wise, and the following precepts are un- 
questionably sound: 

“To speak elegantly, whatever language you speak in; without which 
nobody will hear you with pleasure, and, consequently, you will speak to 
very little purpose. 

“An agreeable and distinct elocution ; without which nobody will hear 
you with patience : this everybody may acquire, who is not born with 
some imperfection in the organs of speech. You are not; and therefore 
it is wholly in your power. You need take much less pains for it than 
Demosthenes did. 

“A distinguished politeness of manners and address ; which common 
sense, observation, good company, and imitation, will infallibly give you, 
if you will accept of it.” 34 

“From your own observation, reflect what a disagreeable impression 
an awkward address, a slovenly figure, an ungraceful manner of speak- 
ing, whether stuttering, muttering, monotony, or drawling, an unatten- 
tive behaviour, etc., make upon you, at first sight, in a stranger, and how 
they prejudice you against him, though, for aught you know, he may 
have great intrinsic sense and merit. And reflect, on the other hand, 
how much the opposites of all these things prepossess you at first sight 
in favour of those who enjoy them. You wish to find all good qualities 
in them, and are in some degree disappointed if you do not. A thou- 
sand little things, not separately to be defined, conspire to form these 
Graces, this je ne sais quoi that always pleases. A pretty person, gen- 
teel motions, a proper degree of dress, an harmonious voice, something 
open and cheerful in the countenance, but without laughing; a distinct 
and properly varied manner of speaking : all these things, and many 
others, are necessary ingredients in the composition of the pleasing 
je ne sais quoi, which everybody feels, though nobody can describe. 
Observe carefully, then, what displeases or pleases you in others, and 
be persuaded that in general the, same things will please or displease 
them in you.” 85 


83 George Herbert (1593-1633), “The Church Porch.” 

84 “Lord Chesterfield’s Letters to his Son,” Letter 49, January 18, 1750. 

85 Letter 31, March 9, 1748. 


179 


Hearing that his son was frequently inattentive and absent- 
minded in company, Lord Chesterfield wrote him to this 
•effect : 

“I know no one thing more offensive to a company than inattention 
and distraction. It is showing them the utmost contempt, and people 
never forget contempt. No man is distrait with the man he fears, or 
the woman he loves ; which is a proof that every man can get the better • 
of that distraction when he thinks it worth his while to do so; and 
take my word for it, it is always worth his while. For my own part, I 
would rather be in company with a dead man than with an absent one; 
for if the dead man gives me no pleasure, at least he shows me no con- 
tempt ; whereas the absent man, silently indeed, but very plainly, tells 
me that he does not think me worth his attention. Besides, can an 
absent man make any observations upon the characters, customs, and 
manners of the company? No. He may be in the best companies all 
his lifetime (if they will admit him, which, if I were they, I would not) 
and never be one jot the wiser. I never will converse with an absent 
man ; one may as well talk to a deaf one. It is in truth a practical 
blunder to address ourselves to a man, who we see plainly neither hears, 
minds, nor understands us. Moreover, I aver that no man is, in any 
degree, fit for either business or conversation, who cannot, and does not, 
direct and command his attention to the present object, be that what it 
will” 86 

“Talk often, but never long; in that case, if you do not please, at 
least you are sure not to tire your hearers.” 

“Tell stories very seldom, and absolutely never but where they are 
very apt and very short. Omit every circumstance that is not material, 
and beware of digressions.” 

“Take, rather than give, the tone of the company you are in. If you 
have parts, you will show them, more or less, upon every subject; and 
if you have not, you had better talk sillily upon a subject of other 
people’s than of your own choosing.” 

“Avoid as much as you can, in mixed companies, argumentative, 
polemical conversations; which, though they should not, yet certainly 
do, indispose, for a time, the contending parties towards each other: 
and, if the controversy grows warm and noisy, endeavour to put an end 
to it by some genteel levity or joke.” 

“Above all things, and upon all occasions, avoid speaking of yourself, 
if it be possible.” 

“Always look people in the face when you speak to them; the not 
doing it is thought to imply conscious guilt; besides that, you lose the 
adyantage of observing by their countenances what impression your 
discourse makes upon them. In order to know people’s real sentiments, 
I trust much more to my eyes than to my ears ; for they can say what- 
ever they have a mind I should; hear, but they can seldom help looking 
what they have no intention that I should know.” ST 

“Proverbial expressions and trite sayings are the flowers of the 
rhetoric of a vulgar man.” 

“A man of fashion never has recourse to proverbs and vulgar 
aphorisms, uses neither favourite words nor hard words; but takes great 
care to speak very correctly and grammatically, and to pronounce prop- 
erly ; that is, according to the usage of the best companies.” 88 


38 Letter 43, September 22, 1749. 
87 Letter 36, October 19, 1748. 
“Letter 44, September 27, 1749. 


i8o 


Dr. Samuel Johnson was the most famous conversationalist 
of his time. His manner and his theory of conversation are 
described as follows: 

“He was always most perfectly clear and perspicuous, and his lan- 
guage was so accurate, and his sentences so neatly constructed, that his 
conversation might have been all printed without any correction. At 
the same time, it was easy and natural; the accuracy of it had no ap- 
pearance of labour, constraint, or stiffness : he seemed more correct than 
others, by the force of habit, and the customary exercises of his power- 
ful mind.” 

“Talking of conversation, he said, ‘There must, in the first place, be 
knowledge ; there must be materials ; in the second place, there must be 
a command of words ; in the third place, there must be imagination, to 
place things in such views as they are not commonly seen in ; and in 
the fourth place, there must be presence of mind, and a resolution that 
it is not to be overcome by failures ; this last is an essential requisite ; 
for want of it many people do not excel in conversation.” 89 

Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote the following: 

“It is a fine thing to be an oracle to which an appeal is always made in 
all discussions. The men of facts wait their turn in grim silence, with 
that slight tension about the nostrils which the consciousness of carry- 
ing a “settler” in the form of a fact or a revolver gives the individual 
thus armed. When a person is really full of information, and does not 
abuse it to crush conversation, his part is to that of the real talkers 
what the instrumental accompaniment is in a trio or quartette of vocal- 
ists. 

— What do I mean by the real talkers? Why, the people with fresh 
ideas, of course, and plenty of good warm words to dress them in. 
Facts always yield the place of honor, in conversation, to thoughts 
about facts; but if a false note is uttered, down comes the finger on the 
key and the man of facts asserts his true dignity.” 

I will tell you my rule. Talk about those subjects you have had 
long in your mind, and listen to what others say about subjects you 
have studied but recently. Knowledge and timber shouldn’t be much 
used till they are seasoned.” 40 

7. Teaching. — The work of teaching is carried on for the 
sake of those who are taught. The motive centers in the 
Other-Self and this makes it a form of argumentation. The 
distinctive character of teaching is derived from personal 
relationship. Under normal conditions the Self and the 
Other-Self are face to face, with a prescribed subject of 
thought, and with the occasion duly provided for. 

Personal Relations. Efficiency in teaching is personal. Per- 
sonal force is the solvent and the vital medium. Efficiency 
is greatest, other things equal, in the sound of a voice, face 
to face and eye to eye ; efficiency is impaired by any conditions 


“James Boswell, Esq. (1740-1795), “Life of Samuel Johnson, LL. D.” 
40 “The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table,” Ch. 6. 


i8i 


that disturb this relationship, like the method of instruction 
by correspondence, or even a lecture method that holds the 
eye on the page of a written lecture rather than on responsive 
faces. 

The teacher is the Self, the student is the Other-Self. The 
personal relation between the two implies certain things with 
respect to the fitness and the attitude of the teacher and of the 
student. 

The teacher should have some sense of a call to his work. 
There is the call of his own nature, the expression of an in- 
born aptitude; and there is a higher call in the spiritual 
silences that will not be denied. The person who teaches 
without the consciousness of a spiritual imperative is in a 
hard place. He must work without the higher sanctions and 
the other compensations are not enough. Among the answers 
to many hundred letters to teachers I once had this brief 
reply : “Am out of educational work for all time.” That was 
all. I have never been able to forget that letter. If the man 
who wrote it ever reads this page he will approve this advice : 
If you have no call to teach, leave teaching for all time. 

The joy of the work is the real compensation of the teacher. 
To work among the things that are not seen, the materials that 
do not fail, forces that are infinite, construction work upon 
which time has no power and space no limitation, — this is the 
joy of living, a satisfying and unfailing contentment, the 
fellowship of eternal life. 

Teaching involves two — the teacher and the student. The 
student must be teachable ; with capacity in the student teach- 
ableness makes teaching easy, the lack of teachableness makes 
teaching impossible. There is a period of youthfulness during 
which it is quite possible to finish education and to become 
unteachable. This is a dreadful misfortune; it closes the 
books and it is very hard to get them open again. Once safely 
past the years of confidence and sufficiency the teachable spirit 
is likely to remain. The goodly prospects of knowledge are 
wide and the fruits of teachableness are too apparent to be 
undervalued. 

The teacher must first of all adapt himself to the student. 

, OtHef-mTndedness is the mental attiude of teaching. Put 
yourself in his place is a warning that breathes in the very air 
of a teacher’s life: it will follow him like an attendant spirit; 
it will trouble him at times with points of view and perplexi- 
ties and burdens not his own ; it will diffuse lights and 
[ shadows across the firmanent of his own life until sympathy 
makes him a traveller under changing skies. With broad 
sympathies and a willingness to be anything or nothing if by 
any means he may help some, the teacher does his work. 


182 


Such adaptation is primarily a gift of temperament and love 
but it is conditioned by knowledge. The teacher must study 
human nature for he must know man in order to understand 
individual men ; he must study the powers and faculties of the 
mind, the ideals constituting motives to action, the desires and 
affections, — the whole realm of personality affected by the 
presentation of truth. 

The teacher must understand his subject. He must know 
if more thoroughly and deeply to teach it than would be neces- 
sary merely to recite upon it. This is one of the first results 
of experience — that you must really know if you would teach. 
By reading, conversation, observation, and reflection, the 
teacher becomes familiar with the whole realm of his subject; 
he needs a logical mind, disciplined in clear, close thinking ; he 
needs courage to follow truth to its conclusions, and decision 
to accept conclusions and act upon them; he needs that dif- 
ferentiating faculty called common sense to guide him in set- 
ting values upon truth and to save him from intellectual ex- 
travagance and vagary; and he must love truth supremely 
that he may be saved from unprofitable diversion. Love is 
the basis of all teaching. It is as fundamental as gravitation 
force in the natural world. All else is disintegrating, but love 
is the fulfilment of law. It is the harmonizing influence be- 
tween man and man ; it is the harmonizing influence, also, be- 
tween man and truth. 

The teacher should inspire faith ; the man and his teaching 
should alike procure belief. Sound character and sound learn- 
ing have self-suggestiveness that carry conviction; the most 
persuasive thing in the world is the truth told by one who is 
true. Guard safely the basis of confidence ; it is better for a 
teacher to say frankly that he does not know than to profess to 
know what he does not. That counterfeiter who fills the 
purse with trash is less an enemy to society than he who under 
the form of teaching fills the mind with trash. 

We must know one another if we are to work together; 
one cannot intelligently help a stranger. Personality is a 
bundle of eccentricities and prejudices; it grows as trees grow, 
with soft spots and hard spots and many cross-grained places ; 
these things should not be ignored. The teacher must know 
the student in order to benefit him through his susceptibilities 
and to save him from his weaknesses. He meets the student ; 
he studies his features, his manner, his actions, his words ; he 
observes him under varying circumstances ; he observes his 
estimate of men and things ; he makes note, also, of his com- 
panions, and seeks to learn something of the home influences 
to which he has been accustomed. So these indications of 
character accumulate, and at length out of them all there takes 


183 

form in the teacher’s mind the conception of a new personality. 
By intuition and inference the teacher has formed a working 
hypothesis, a likeness of the student. As time passes this is 
tested and corrected until the teacher becomes assured that his 
judgment is true. 

The teacher is a worker. Sticklers for an eight-hour day 
would better keep out of teaching; wage-earners will not be 
attracted by teaching. The things a teacher has to do are too 
numerous to mention; now they have a kind of professional 
consistency, which may be described in the phrase of evolution 
as “coherent heterogeneity”; once they were more widely 
various than this. An old record sums up the duties of a New 
England schoolmaster of 1661 as follows: 

“i. To act as court messenger. 

2. To serve summonses. 

3. To conduct certain ceremonial services of the church. 

4. To lead the Sunday choir. 

5. To ring the bell for public worship. 

6. To dig graves. 

7. To take charge of the school. 

8. To perform other occasional duties.” 

If the teacher’s life has come to be centered more in teaching, 
it is not therefore less sturdy. We should have a clear notion 
of what teaching is. It is not studying; it is not talking to a 
class ; it is not listening to recitations ; it is not lecturing. A 
teacher may lecture for an hour and leave his classroom with 
the discouraging conviction that of all the true and important 
things he has said, not one will be remembered, not one has 
been taught to any soul that heard him. A teacher may listen 
to recitations and leave his classroom with that depression of 
soul that follows lost opportunities and unfulfilled obligations. 
A teacher may talk pleasantly during the period and do no 
teaching at all. A teacher should study ; the spirit of research 
might lead him, as it did the old professor, to give his years 
to the dative case and to lament at last that he had not confined 
himself to the original dative, but such research is not teach- 
ing. Teaching is personal force energizing truth and impart- 
ing it in such a way that it will be appropriated. It requires 
much energy to teach; successful teaching, in fact, does not 
require so much knowledge as it does a little knowledge lodged, 
in the right place. Nothing but vital force will impart: 
knowledge, and there are some who can be approached only' 
by violence; it is like making a touchdown to communicate su 
truth to some persons. If you do this you will be tired when 
the day is done ; you may be a nervous wreck when the year is 
over. But you have the teacher’s joy in teaching. 


184 

The teacher must forget the things that are behind. This 
is hard to do — the troubles of the day, the discipline, the sense 
of failure, things unwisely said, opportunities seeh too late, 
brooding anxiety about the effect upon this one and upon that 
one, regrets, and weariness that accompanies dejection. It is 
perhaps the hardest thing to do when the day’s work is done, 
to forget the things that are behind. But the duties of the 
moment and the morrow demand it. He is poorly prepared 
for his work who makes his preparation with a troubled mind. 
The work that is waiting to be done requires the very best that 
we can possibly do. The most practical success is succession, 
with singleness of purpose and entire devotion and the trust- 
fulness of a child. He is strong for his work who can rest 
in this good council — “In nothing be anxious .” 41 

The teacher should study the thing that he has to teach until 
he is sure that his conception of it is in harmony with the whole 
circle of truth. Truth is not at variance with itself. The 
particular thing can be understood only when it is seen in the 
universal relations. The depth in philosophy that will not rest 
except in the Creator is the necessary safeguard of the intel- 
lectual life of the teacher. Education fosters the influences 
that develop perfect individuality. Our civilization is built 
upon the bed-rock of Holy Scripture. The emotional content 
of this truth finds frequent lyric expression in the Psalms: 
“Open Thou mine eyes, that I may behold wondrous things 
out of Thy Law .” 42 We who study in the realm of law, who 
follow the little streams and the rivers, we shall find ourselves 
thinking of the Law : it is like the sea ; it is deep and wide and 
wonderful; it accords with experience, yet it transcends ex- 
perience; here is the mystery of life and death; here are the 
waves of sin and the calm of Divine Love; in nature all is 
law, but here is a revelation of Love in law. This Law of 
God is too wonderful for me, yet it is my soul’s rest, for — 
like the sea — He holds it in the hollow of His hand. 

The influence of the teacher extends through the student’s 
most impressionable years. Youth, like the youth of the 
world, is a golden age, a glad unconquerable time, a time of 
visions unlimited — over the hills and far away. It is the Iliad 
and Odyssey in the life of every one; into this time like Olym- 
pian influences come the teachers. A stream line of impres- 
sionable humanity is passing through the schools and colleges ; 
unnoted generations go out into the busy life of the world to 
make it and to be made by it. Our civilization is building like 
a city. You may think of it in terms of economics and soci- 
ology and ethics, and you will need to do that in order that 

41 Philippians 4, 6. 

"The Psalms 119, 18. 


* / 

/ 

185 

you shall be a practical person and not a dreamer. You must 
think of it also in terms of the infinite spirit of man in order 
that you shall build in an infinite way. The city Camelot — 
built to music — is Tennyson's parable : 

“ ‘For truly as thou sayest, a Fairy King 
And Fairy Queens have built the city, son; 

They came from out a sacred mountain-cleft 
Toward the sunrise, each with harp in hand, 

And built it to the music of their harps. 

And, as thou sayest, it is enchanted, son, 

For there is nothing in it as it seems 
Saving, the King ; tho’ some there be that hold 
The King a shadow, and the city real : 

Yet take thou heed of him, for, so thou pass 
Beneath this archway, then wilt thou become 
A thrall to his enchantments, for the King 
Will bind thee by such vows, as is a shame 
A man should not be bound by, yet the which 
No man can keep ; but, so thou dread to swear, 

Pass not beneath this gateway, but abide 
Without, among the cattle of the field. 

For an ye heard a music, like enow 

They are building still, seeing the city is built 

To music, therefore never built at all, 

And therefore built for ever.’” 48 

Somewhere among the foundations of the city you will find 
the teachers. This work is not very conspicuous but it is 
very important. The teacher is providing for the strong de- 
termining influences of years to come ; the student’s life work 
depends upon the teacher’s day’s work. 

It was said of Arnold of Rugby, 44 — “He wakes every morn- 
ing with the impression that everything is an open question.” 
He studied constantly the subjects that he taught from year 
to year, for he would not have his boys draw from a stagnant 
pool. He said, — “With regard to one’s work, be it school 
or parish, I suppose the desirable feeling to entertain is always 
to expect to succeed and never think you have succeeded.” 
This work is wrought in quietness. The company of scholars 
is a conservative company whose influence is for refinement 
and culture that shall develop love and power within the mind 
of man. 

Doctor Huntington 45 was professor of Greek in Colum- 
bian College for fifty years. His own character was a chasten- 
ing gentleness in the Greek studies that he taught. And his 
refinement was so far from impassivity that it was a matter 
of conscience with him not to save the manuscripts of his lec- 

43 “Gareth and Lynette” in “Idylls of the King.” 

44 Thomas Arnold (1795-1842), “Life and Correspondence of Thomas 
Arnold,” Stanley. 

46 Adoniram Judson Huntington (1818-1903). 


1 86 


tures from year to year, lest his own relation to the subjects 
he taught should lose its vital character. 

The work of the teacher goes on among the foundations. 
It has to do with the things that are not seen ; it is not forgot- 
ten wholly, but the fame of it is not notable in the world. 
The teacher’s vision grows clearer towards the perfect day, 
and the teacher’s language is that of the sword Excalibur — 
“the oldest tongue of all this world,” and the teacher is quite 
content, even though he understands the meaning of self- 
effacement and the legend cut into the foundations of the 
Palace — the burden of the Builder, — 

“After me cometh a builder : tell him I, too, have known !” 46 

8. Oratory. — Oratory has the elemental strength of argu- 
mentation. The dominant motive is the Other- Self, and this 
motive is simple and intense. The orator looks into human 
faces and what he sees there inspires him. The forces latent 
in human minds, that give to faces a deep impressiveness, the 
thoughts that lie shadowed in consciousness, the springs of 
laughter and the fountains of tears — the potency of all these in 
human faces is the surge of a great incentive. With the 
burden and exaltation of his thought the orator is face to face 
with his audience ; he adapts his thought to them and they are 
an inspiration to him. This is the personal setting of oratory 
and it shows the elemental strength of argumentation. 

The occasion, with conditions of place and time, is a forma- 
tive influence in oratorical composition. These conditions 
have developed five kinds of oratory, the oratory of the As- 
sembly, the Court of Law, the Debate, the Pulpit, and the 
Special Occasion. 

g. The Assembly. — In the Athenian Assembly, against 
extraordinary discouragements, Demosthenes 47 became the 
greatest orator in the world, and it is still believed that no one 
has surpassed him. In the Roman Senate, Cicero 48 spoke 
against Catiline, and O temporal O mores! has echoed even 
to our own times. In the House of Commons, Edmund 
Burke 49 is still a commanding personality. In the American 
Senate, Webster is an imperishable figure. Masters of as- 
semblies like these have moulded the history of the world. 

Public speaking in assemblies is given form by the nature 
of the occasion and the character of the Other-Self. Delib- 
erative and legislative assemblies have a prescribed function 

44 Rudyard Kipling, “The Palace,” Collected Verse, p. 257. 

41 Demosthenes (385-322 B. C.). 

“Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 B. C.). 

"Edmund Burke (1729-1797). 


i8 7 


and they are constituted of persons of capacity to exercise 
that function. The occasion then is practical demanding* 
action but not hasty and ill-advised action. The opportunities 
for deliberative speaking seem almost eliminated from many 
assemblies by party lines, by caucus requirement, by conven- 
tional influence amounting sometimes to tyranny. Freedom 
to think, to consider arguments, to change opinions if reason 
demand it, to act in accordance with conviction — such freedom 
is the proper occasion for deliberative oratory. But truth has 
always a large following and reason has always to be reckoned 
with. This being so deliberative oratory will never disappear 
from assemblies, and it will never cease to cause anxiety to 
those who for selfish ends would hurry decisions against 
reason. 

In the public assembly the occasion develops questions of 
weight and dignity, questions of public interest and policy 
which are the common concern of large bodies of people. The 
interests that come to discussion in public assemblies do not 
as a rule depend upon accidental influences, and they are not 
of a casual character; they depend rather upon the deep con- 
tinuing forces in human society. So it is that deliberative 
oratory has something of a universal character. 

In the public assembly the Other-Self is usually a person of 
intelligence capable of discriminating judgment and fine feel- 
ing. Some degree of intellectual aptitude for the subjects 
considered may be assumed in the members of such assemblies. 
So the Self, the Other-Self, and the occasion tend to give 
the oratory of the assembly strong, high thinking. 

The thought processes of the assembly are generally de- 
ductive, and the structure of the composition substantive ex- 
position. The orator seeks to cultivate appreciation of truth. 

Patrick Henry’s speech in the Virginia convention of dele- 
gates was the morning star of the Revolution. On March 23, 
1775, when the policy concerning violations of rights and liber- 
ties was to be determined, and a conciliatory and temporizing 
policy was in favor, Patrick Henry moved the adoption of a 
resolution, — “That this colony be immediately put into a state 
of defence.” In the discussion that followed, the resolution 
was opposed: it might be brave but it was the bravery of 
madness; it would be time enough for measures of despair 
when every hope had fled. Then Patrick Henry 50 spoke. 
William Wirt’s account of this memorable speech is an im- 
portant document in the study of deliberative speaking : 

“He rose at this time with a majesty unusual to him in an exordium, 
and with all that self-possession by which he was so invariably dis- 
tinguished. No man, he said, thought more highly than he did of the 


“•Patrick Henry ( 1736-1799) • 


1 88 


patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who had 
just addressed the house. But different men often saw the same sub- 
ject in different lights; and, therefore, he hoped it would not be 
thought disrespectful to those gentlemen, if, entertaining as he did, 
opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, he should speak forth 
his sentiments freely, and without reserve. This, he said, was no time 
for ceremony. The question before this house was one of awful 
moment to the country. For his own part, he considered it as nothing 
less than a question of freedom or slavery. And in proportion to the 
magnitude of the subject, ought to be the freedom of the debate. It was 
only in this way that they could hope to arrive at truth, and fulfil the 
great responsibility which they held to God and their country. Should he 
keep back his opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offence, 
he should consider himself as guilty of treason toward his country, and 
of an act of disloyalty toward the majesty of heaven, which he revered 
above all earthly kings.” 

“ ‘Mr. President/ said he, ‘it is natural to man to indulge in the 
illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth— 
and listen to the song of that siren, till she transforms us into beasts. 
Is this/ he asked, ‘the part of wise men engaged in a great and arduous 
struggle for liberty? Were we disposed to be of the number of those, 
who having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so 
nearly concern their temporal salvation? For his part, whatever 
anguish of spirit it might cost, he was willing to know the whole truth; 
to know the worst, and to provide for it/ ” 

“ ‘He had/ he said, ‘but one lamp by which his feet were guided ; and 
that was the lamp of experience. He knew of no way of judging of the 
future but by the past. And judging by the past, he wished to know 
what there had been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last 
ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen had been pleased 
to solace themselves and the house? Is it that insidious smile with 
which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will 
prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a 
kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition com- 
ports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and 
darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and 
reconciliation ? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, 
that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive 
ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation — the 
last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means 
this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission ? Can 
gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain 
any enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation 
of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: 
they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet 
upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forg- 
ing. And what have we to oppose them? Shall we try argument? 
Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything 
new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in 
every light of which it is capable ; but it has been all in vain. Shall we 
resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find, 
which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, 
deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done every thing that could be 
done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned — 
we have remonstrated — we have supplicated — we have prostrated our- 
selves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest 
the tyrannical hands of the ministry and parliament. Our petitions 
have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional vio- 


189 


lence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have 
been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In vain, 
after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and recon- 
ciliation. There is no longer any room jor hope. If we wish to be 
free — if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for 
which we have been so long contending — if we mean not basely to 
abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and 
which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon, until the glorious 
object of our contest shall be obtained — we must fight! I repeat it, sir, 
we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that 
is left us!’ ” 

“ ‘They tell us, sir,’ continued Mr. Henry, ‘that we are weak — unable 
to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be 
stronger? Will it be the next week or the next year? Will it be when 
we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in 
every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? 
Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on 
our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies 
shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make 
a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our 
power. Three millions of people armed in the holy cause of liberty, and 
in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force 
which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight 
our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies 
of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. 
The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, 
the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough 
to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no 
retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged. Their 
clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! The war is inevitable — 
and let it come ! ! I repeat it, sir, let it come ! ! !’ ” 

“ ‘It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry peace, 
peace, but there is no peace. The war is actually begun ! The next gale 
that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resound- 
ing arms ! Our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here 
idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is 
life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains 
and slavery, Forbid it, Almighty God — I know not what course others 
may take; but as for me,’ cried he, with both his arms extended aloft, 
his brows knit, every feature marked with the resolute purpose of his 
soul, and his voice swelled to its boldest note of exclamation — ‘give me 
liberty or give me death !’ ” 

“He took his seat. No murmur of applause was heard. The effect 
was too deep. After the trance of a moment several members started 
from their seats. The cry, ‘to arms !’ seemed to quiver on every lip, and 
gleam from every eye. Richard H. Lee arose and supported Mr. 
Henry, with his usual spirit and elegance. But his melody was lost 
amid the agitations of that ocean, which the master-spirit of the storm 
had lifted up on high. That supernatural voice still sounded in their 
ears, and shivered along their arteries. They heard, in every pause, the 
cry of liberty or death. They became impatient of speech — their souls 
were on fire for action.” 

The resolutions were adopted; and Patrick Henry, Richard H. Lee, 
Robert C. Nicholas, Benjamin Harrison, Lemuel Riddick, George 
"Washington, Adam Stevens, Andrew Lewis, William Christian, Edmund 
Pendleton, Thomas Jefferson, and Isaac Zane, esquires, were appointed 
a committee to prepare the plan called for by the last resolution. 

“William Wirt (1772-1834), “Life and Character of Patrick Henry.” 


io. The Court of Law. — The oratory of the bar looks for- 
ward : it seeks a verdict. It is an inductive-deductive process 
of reasoning. The known facts are the starting point. The 
process of reasoning begins inductively, proceeding from facts 
to principles; it continues deductively, proceeding from prin- 
ciples to new facts. The most obvious phase of the oratory 
of the bar is induction. TtTsTfierefore in effect adjective ex- 
position. Beginning as it does with facts it is specific and 
definite. It is not academic like the questions of the assembly ; 
it is not theoretical like debate. It has to do with the question 
of justice for the individual man. The judge is the proper 
guardian of the law, and the jury is the proper guardian of 
the citizen. The assumption is that the citizen is innocent 
until he is proven guilty. This assumption in favor of the 
citizen gives personal atmosphere and idealizes the oratory 
of the bar with fundamental conceptions of the inalienable 
rights of man. 

In the court of law the Other-Self is usually the jury. It 
is to the jury that the speech is addressed; it is from the 
jury that the verdict comes. The formulating influence in 
the composition of the speech is the probable effect upon the 
jury. This is obviously argumentation. Whether the speech 
is for the defence or for the people the object is to convince 
and! persuade the jury to vindicate personal rights. The 
oratory of the courts of law is addressed to men whose duty 
it is to guarantee justice and to safeguard personal rights. 

Evidence is the raw material of reasoning. Facts are sifted 
and weighed. The argument is full of concrete things, of 
narrative passages, of human interest; the structure is ad- 
jective exposition: it is based on known facts and it proceeds 
with a synthesis of imaginative reconstruction. Webster’s 
speech for the prosecution in the case of the murder of Cap- 
tain Joseph White illustrates this kind of oratory. 

n. The Debate. — Debate is the formal rhetorical presen- 
tation of two sides of a question to the end that one side shall 
be accepted as truth. 

The word debate means to beat down. It is an aggressive, 
logical mode having its characteristic quality in offence and 
not in defence. The meaning of the definition centers in three 
terms — truth, and question, and formal. 

Truth is the objective. Debate specifically strengthens itself 
step by step with formulation of truth. Over and over again 
the processes of debate present a proposition embodying a 
conception of truth, and statements are accepted as authori- 
tative just to the extent that they are believed to be true. 

It is an old saying that there are two sides to every ques- 
tion. Everything has different aspects from different points 


of view. We know noumena by phenomena ; we know ob- 
jects themselves by the appearances of the objects. But we 
perceive appearances in groups and so get partial effects and 
we perceive appearances in different combinations, and so get 
different effects. So it is that experience teaches that every 
question has two or more sides. In debate two sides are 
taken respectively by two parties, and each party seeks to show 
that his side is essentially true. 

Select a real question. Some propositions do not involve 
real questions. A proposition may state an axiom but this is 
not debatable; it may announce an accepted fact but this in- 
volves no issue; it may assert a truism but to discuss this 
would be tedious ; it may formulate words so that the question 
is more apparent than real. The words of a question should 
be definite and univocal. The question is agreed upon before- 
hand therefore it should be so stated that there will be no dis- 
agreement about its meaning. Vague words, ambiguous 
words, and general terms should be avoided. The question 
in word, phrase, and clause, should be so stated that it cannot 
be misunderstood. 

Debate is a severely logical mode; it employs exposition al- 
most exclusively. The attitude of the Other-Self in debate 
is judicial and the logical thing is therefore the convincing 
and persuasive thing. Of first importance is an intellective 
atmosphere with clear projections of reason. 

Next to logic is the mental attitude that promotes logic. 
This attitude is magnanimity, because magnanimity diffuses a 
sense of well-being that safeguards personal relations and 
leaves the reason untrammelled. The magnanimous debater 
states the question simply; he concedes to his opponent all of 
those things on which as individuals they would doubtless 
agree; he is willing to yield to his opponent many debatable 
things which his opponent might cherish, and to waive many 
more which are not pertinent to the real issue of debate. The 
magnanimous debater desires to state the question to the en- 
tire satisfaction of his opponent; he will state his opponent's 
position with fairness ; his whole attitude will show that the 
main purpose of the debate is truth. 

Most questions are not new, and the old questions have 
been answered many times. Questions do not affect us as a 
mechanism would but as an organism. They are an ex- 
pression of states of consciousness in which the three phases, 
the cognitive, the emotional, and the volitional are in varying 
ratios of expressiveness showing phenomena of growth and 
change. So the appeal of questions to the individual and to 
the community will be constantly changing. We speak of 
timely questions and current questions, of vital questions and 


192 


live questions. The judgment of the individual and of the 
community has been passed on most real questions and the 
trend of judgment accompanies questions and gives a predis- 
position in debate. Custom, conventionality, orthodoxy, au- 
thority, precedent, and good use silently determine the status 
of questions. 

Every question, therefore, has a status quo which decides 
it unless the debate develops an initiative of conviction and 
persuasion sufficient to change it. The side that undertakes 
to change the status quo has the burden of proof. 

The burden of procedure shifts from time to time as one 
party or the other establishes a presumption in favor of some 
phase of the question, but the burden of proof does not change. 
The obligation to prove the main proposition rests at all times 
upon the party maintaining it. 

Formal influences control debate. Each party deals with 
the same question, with the same judges, and with the same 
purpose to make truth to appear. Each party must emphasize 
therefore the universal phases of knowledge, must use judi- 
ciously the particular phases of feeling, precluding prejudice 
and restricting emotion to magnanimous aspects, and must 
utilize universal phases of motive that are found in wholesome 
idealism. 

12. The Pulpit. — The Pulpit stands for the formal appeal 
of Christianity to mankind. Preaching is the distinctive ora- 
torical mode of Christianity. The Bible is the law of the Re- 
vealed Religion — primarily not a text-book but a law. 
Preaching is therefore in its essential character a mode of au- 
thority, and a sermon begins with a text of Scripture. 

The function of preaching is stated in the commission for 
evangelization, — 

"Go ye into all the world and preach the Gospel to every creature.” “ 

The phrase, “preach the Gospel,” 53 occurs in the New Testa- 
ment with great frequency, and there is a warning against 
preaching any other gospel. The purpose of preaching to 
declare the Gospel as authoritative revelation, and to cultivate 
the knowledge of it, shows that preaching is fundamentally 
substantive exposition. 

Preaching is addressed either to those who are Christians 
or to those who are not. For those who are Christians the 
purpose of preaching is their edification; for those who are 
not the purpose is their evangelization. For all it is instruc- 
tion in righteousness. 

“Mark 16, 15. 

“Luke 4, 18; Acts 16, 10; 1 Cor. 1, 17; Gal. 1, 8. 


193 


When Paul the Apostle stood in the midst of the Areopagus 
to preach to the Athenians, the influences of the place and the 
people and the sensitive soul of the preacher worked together 
in the preaching of the Gospel there. This New Testament 
example of a sermon illustrates the nature of preaching as a 
mode of authority, and the problem of adaptation that the 
preacher may bring the truth to every one in the language of 
his own heart: 

“Ye men of Athens, in all things I perceive that ye are very religious. 
For as I passed along, and observed the objects of your worship, I 
found also an altar with this inscription, To an unknown God. What 
therefore ye worship in ignorance, this I set forth unto you. The God 
that made the world and all things therein, he, being Ford of heaven 
and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands ; neither is he 
served by men’s hands, as though he needed anything, seeing he himself 
giveth to all life, and breath, and all things ; and he made of one every 
nation of men to dwell on all the face of the earth, having determined 
their appointed seasons, and the bounds of their habitation ; that they 
should seek God, if haply they might feel after him and find him, 
though he is not far from each one of us : for in him we live, and 
move, and have our being; as certain even of your own poets have said, 

For we are also his offspring. 

Being then the offspring of God, we ought not to think that the God- 
head is like unto gold, or silver, or stone, graven by art and device of 
man. The times of ignorance therefore God overlooked; but now he 
commandeth men that they should all everywhere repent : inasmuch as 
he hath appointed a day in which he will judge the world in righteous- 
ness by the man whom he hath ordained ; whereof he hath given assur- 
ance unto all men, in that he hath raised him from the dead.” 64 

The science that treats of the making of sermons is homi- 
letics. Both the Latin word sermo and the Greek word 
I homilia mean familiar speech, conversation, talk. Sermons 
and homilies were not thought of by the early Christians as 
forms of oratory, but as modes of teaching. The Bible 
revered as God’s Word and accepted as the rule of faith and 
conduct, was preached for the edification of the Church and 
for the evangelization of the world. The teaching motive was 
therefore very strong in sermons and this influence appears 
in the words sermon and homily, and in the structure of the 
composition. 

Sermons are at basis products of the reason rather than 
creations of the imagination. Their structure is therefore 
expository. If sermons are classified according to their struc- 
ture there are two kinds corresponding to the two processes 
of exposition. Substantive exposition begins with a propo- 
sition, and by a deductive process of analysis the meaning and 
application of the proposition become clear. This is a process 


The Acts 1 7, 22-31. 


194 


of meditation and reflection by which we cultivate knowledge 
of truth and deepen appreciation of it. Adjective exposition 
begins with a statement of facts and by an inductive process 
of definition we are led to discover the principle of which the 
facts are an expression. This is a severe process of reason- 
ing by which we discover truth and gain a deeper insight into 
the meaning of things. 

Structural characteristics thus give two kinds of sermons — 
Substantive-Sermons and Adjective-Sermons. As the struc- 
ture itself is determined by the nature of the thought this 
classification is based in the character of the Scripture itself. 
Some texts are revealed truth and as such they should develop 
Substantive-Sermons. Other texts are transcripts of human 
life and prescriptions of duties and these texts naturally de- 
velop Adjective-Sermons. 

This classification practically accords with that of Dr. John 
A. Broadus , 55 who names three classes — subject-sermons, 
text-sermons, and expository sermons. Of these three the 
first and the second are substantive exposition, and the third 
is adjective exposition. The subject-sermon derives a sub- 
ject from a text and this subject is treated by a method of 
logical analysis. The text-sermon analyzes a text by a method 
of literary analysis. Both of these — the subject-sermon and 
the text-sermon — are substantive exposition and the classifi- 
cation is in accord with the recognized methods of logical and 
literary analysis. The expository sermon as discussed by Doc- 
tor Broadus is evidently the inductive method of adjective ex- 
position applied to a passage of Scripture for the purpose of 
discovering the truth of which the passage is an expression. 

Substantive exposition, it will be remembered, has for its 
object the cultivation of truth; adjective exposition has for its 
object the discovery of truth. Some texts of Scripture are 
principles that are illustrated and exemplified in human ex- 
perience. The truths embodied in such texts are known ; they 
need only to be cultivated by the method of substantive expo- 
sition. Other texts of Scripture are passages in narration or 
in the concrete forms of exposition, the underlying principles 
of which are discovered only through the processes of ad- 
jective exposition. 

Mere expository composition would be an essay if the 
method were substantive exposition, or a monograph if it 
were adjective exposition. Such a composition would not be 
a sermon. The distinctive structure of a sermon comes from 
the Other-Self and not from the thought. The Christian 
minister will seek to know what the people need and this will 

65 John A. Broadus (1827-1895), “A Treatise on the Preparation and 
Delivery of Sermons,” New York, Armstrong, 1901. 


195 


be his subject; this will guide him also in the development 
of his subject; it will give form and spirit and power. This 
was the advice Mr. Beecher gave : 

“You will very soon come, in your parish life, to the habit of think- 
ing more about your people, and what you shall do for them than about 
your sermons and what you shall talk about. That is a good sign.” “ 

13. The Special Occasion. — Cultivation of truth is the ob- 
ject of the special occasion. The oratory of the special oc- 
casion is, therefore, substantive exposition, and this in its 
processes deepens thinking; thought begets emotion and emo- 
tion in turn stirs imagination, and all the modes of imagina- 
tion — narration and description and poetry — like shafts of 
light, are shining through the structure of substantive exposi- 
tion and transforming it into something rich and strange. 

Deep thinking and deep feeling develop the qualities of 
clearness and force. Through clearness we have knowledge 
of the world without ; through force we experience the power 
of the world within ; the congenial forces of these two worlds 
give us experiences of beauty. Thus the special occasion stirs 
the elemental forces of truth and the soul. 

The special occasion begins on the hills of discovery; it 
cultivates appreciation of the things already known. It is the 
place of vision. 

The eyes of the people show it. There is an alert attitude, 
a tense manner, a bright and expectant look. These are mo- 
ments of deep experiences, not of phenomena and properties 
and attributes, but of life and living. The native speech of the 
special occasion is a medium of expression that has lost itself 
in the thing that it expresses : it is a kind of radiant energy. 

Reason and truth are correlated things; imperfections of 
language and imperfections of personality so far neutralize 
this correlation that, under ordinary conditions we experience 
the forces of intellectual life vaguely and inconclusively. But 
the special occasion changes all this. The correlation of 
reason and truth is strong as in the beginning. The Soul can 
use the sword Excalibur, and the speech of the special occasion 
is “the oldest tongue of all this world.” 

The special occasion develops the personal power of the 
orator. Mr. Lodge has described the personal power of 
Webster : 

“His eyes were extraordinary. They were very dark and deep-set, 
and when he began to rouse himself to action shone with the deep light 
of a forge-fire getting ever more glowing as excitement rose. His 
voice was in harmony with his appearance. It was low and musical in 
conversation ; in debate it was high but full, ringing out in moments of 

“Henry Ward Beecher (1813-1887), Yale Lectures, First Series. 


excitement like a clarion, and then sinking to deep notes with the solemn 
richness of organ tones, while the words were accompanied by a man- 
ner in which grace and dignity mingled in complete accord. The im- 
pression which he made upon the eye and ear it is difficult to express. 
There is no man in all history who came into the world so equipped 
physically for speech.”" 

The special occasion may be memorial, or social, or political 
or academic. Webster’s oration on Adams and Jefferson 
and his Plymouth Oration are examples of memorial oratory. 
Henry Grady’s 68 after-dinner speech on the Race Problem in 
the South, Lincoln’s political speech, “A House divided against 
itself cannot stand,” Wendell Phillips’ 69 Phi Beta Kappa Ora- 
tion, “The Scholar in a Republic,” are notable examples of the 
oratory of social, political, and academic occasions. They all 
have the vision of things as they are, and they all have a 
power not merely of phenomena and properties and attributes, 
but the immediate persuasiveness of reality. 

The special occasion, as the name indicates, is one of extra- 
ordinary character. Everything is set in time and place, and 
there are times and places like a refiner’s fire. The words 
that are spoken in the stress of such experiences have strange 
beauty and transcendent power. 

It was so when President Lincoln spoke at Gettysburg. 
The occasion was like the deep music of a requiem with words 
yet unspoken but dimly felt. And he who spoke so simply for 
the people knew not that the words were great. 60 

14. Eloquence. — Oratory appears in the midst of conven- 
tional speech like a dramatic event in the routine of the day. 
Eloquence flashes in the winds of circumstance like a wave of 
fire lifting into the night. 

On the Sunday after Queen Victoria died, in the First 
Baptist Church in the City of Washington, Doctor Talmage, 61 
the preacher of the day, offered the morning prayer. He 
prayed for England in her grief ; he expressed the sorrow and 
the sympathy of a kindred people; he recognized the benefi- 
cence of God in the life and the long reign of Victoria, and 
now the prayers of more than sixty years were answered and 
God had saved the Queen. 

That was in January, 1901, and after these years, as I think 
of it, I am experiencing again the deepening throbs of the 
phrases rising to the great surge of the last words — “God has 

" Henry Cabot Lodge, “Daniel Webster.” 

88 Henry W. Grady (1851-1889). 

89 Wendell Phillips (1811-1884). 

“The Century Magazine, Nov., 1909, MacVeagh, “Lincoln at Gettys- 
burg.” 

"Thomas DeWitt Talmage (1832-1902). 


i 9 7 


saved the Queen” — a chill of cold, a wave of heat, a clutch at 
the throat, a sob out of silence as all the people stirred. 

Once in the Senate of the United States, with the thought 
of what the fathers of the Republic had dared to do for a 
principle, there came to Daniel Webster a memory of many 
years before when sitting on the ramparts of Quebec he had 
heard the drum-beat of the English garrison, and the memory 
of that drum-beat inspired these words: 

“On this question of principle, while actual suffering was yet afar off, 
they raised their flag against a power, to which, for purposes of foreign 
conquest and subjugation, Rome, in the height of her glory, is not to 
be compared; a power which has dotted over the surface of the whole 
globe with her possessions and military posts, whose morning drum- 
beat, following the sun, and keeping company with the hours, circles 
the earth with one continuous and unbroken strain of the martial airs 
of England.’’ 62 

Eloquence is the climax of argumentation. It is self-as- 
sertion, the supreme effect in the appeal to the Other-Self. 

Mere thought is impressive to the reason; mere thought is 
the raw material of intellectual activity, but rhetorical ex- 
pression is thought personally interpreted. Ordinarily per- 
sonal interpretations are implied giving tone to expression, but 
argumentation is the mode of self-expression characterized 
by explicit personal relations. And eloquence is supreme self- 
assertion. 

Individuality has in it the power of an endless life ; it is the 
brother of infinity, the child of God, and individuality has a 
majesty which outshines thought and the lesser issues of life. 

Thought is sometimes so vital that the incentives of it pro- 
foundly stir the Self. In such experiences all the powers of 
the soul, like the divisions of an army, go into action. 

In “The Faerie Queene” a passage tells of Arthur's dia- 
mond shield. It is a parable of eloquence — the radiant energy 
of individuality in flaming self-assertion : 

“His warlike shield all closely cover’d was, 

Ne might of mortall eye be ever seene; 

Not made of steele, nor of enduring bras, 

Such earthy mettals soon consumed beene, 

But all of Diamond perfect pure and cleene 
It framed was, one massy entire mould, 

Hewen out of Adamant rocke with engines keene, - 
That point of speare it never percen could, 

Ne dint of direfull sword divide the substance would.' 

The same to wight he never wont disclose, 

But whenas monsters huge he would dismay, 

Or daunt unequall armies of his foes, 

Or when the flying heavens he would affray; 

* * * * * * * 


““The Presidential Protest,” May 7, 1834. 


198 

No magicke arts hereof had any might, 

Nor bloody wordes of bold Enchaunters call; ' 

But all that was not such as seemd in sight 
Before that shield did fade, and suddeine fall: 

And when him list the raskall routes appall, 

Men into stones therewith he could transmew, 

And stones to dust, and dust to nought at all ; 

And, when him list the prouder lookes subdew, 

He would them gazing blind, or turne to other hew.” * 

Merlin — the spirit of the very soul of Man — made Arthur’s 
shield, and the shield was ordinarily covered, even in conflict. 
Once in battle with a giant adversary the covering was rent 
asunder : 

"And in his fall his shield, that covered was, 

Did loose his vele, by chaunce, and open flew; 

The light whereof, that hevens light did pas, 

Such blazing brightnesse through the ayer threw, 

That eye mote not the same endure to vew.” 84 

The history of eloquence is like this. Only great occasions 
develop eloquence. The unveiled shield is the ultimate 
strength of Arthur and no mere mortal strength can endure 
to view its more than mortal light. 

In the oration on Adams and Jefferson, Webster described 
eloquence as follows: 

"When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, 
when great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing 
is valuable in speech farther than as it is connected with high intel- 
lectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness are 
the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does 
not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and 
learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases 
may be marshalled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must 
exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected passion, 
intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire to it ; they 
cannot, reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a 
fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with 
spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, 
the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and 
disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their 
children, and their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then 
words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory 
contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as 
in the presence of higher qualities. Then patriotism is eloquent ; then 
self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning the deduc- 
tions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, 
speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, 
and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object — this, 
this is eloquence; or, rather, it is something greater and higher than 
all eloquence, it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action.” 


88 "The Faerie Queene” I, 7, 33-35. 
84 Ibid. I, 8, 19. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE COMPOSITION. 


. x * English Quality.— English quadity is a determining force 
m English composition. This quality enters into our Litera- 
ture in four lines of influence— Race, Place, Time, and Indi- 
viduality — which may be summarized as follows: 

JS^LCje: Composite with Saxon basis. 

Place : Coast of the North Sea — lowland and island. 

Time : Epochs of civilization. 

Jftdividuality : Extreme development of individualism. 

Race. The world’s great races have been mixed races. The 
English race is an example of this. It is composed of the 
following elements: Saxons, Angles, Jutes of Teutonic stock; 
Britons comprising Welsh, Scotch, Irish, of Celtic stock ; Danes, 
of Teutonic stock; Normans, of Teutonic stock, with some 
admixture of Celtic. The Teuton and the Celt, two great 
branches of the Aryan family of peoples, have mingled to form 
the English race. 

The relative value of the Saxon and the Celtic elements in 
our literature may be indicated by saying that the Saxon, has 
given. streng th and the Celtic has given grace. This distinction 
means, not the exclusive" pt5SSe3?ion of the characteristic in 
either case, but the prime and distinguishing characteristic. 
Strength and grace, in mutual relation and just proportion, did 
not arise together. It is important to note their source and 
trace their development in the literature. 

The Saxons were strong through conflict. Their origin is 
lost amid martial traditions and the far echoes of war. They 
may have been those Scythians who about the Caspian Sea. 
menaced the Persian kings and always eluded their vengeance.. 
They were an aggressive, conquering people. Their seaman- 
ship, their valor, their cruelty impressed their enemies. The 
fear of them crept into the litany of the Gallic Church — "From 
the fury of the Northmen, Good Lord, deliver us/’ 

The Saxon strength could not fail to characterize their tra- 
ditions, their songs, and their literature. Old English Litera- 
ture until Alfred is nearly all poetry. The Pagan poetry be- 
fore Caedmon is the essence of the Saxon type, and its dis- 
tinguishing quality is strength ; it sings of voyages, adventures,, 
battles. The Christian poetry after Caedmon is still prevail- 
ingly Saxon; it delights in the sterner themes of Scripture — 

(i99) 


200 


the Creation and the Fall of Man, Judith and Holof ernes, and 
legends of apostles who went forth to the heathen as berser- 
kers to war, and grim allegories of the soul. 

On the west and north the Saxon was in contact with Celtic 
influences. The Christianity of Northumbria was that of the 
Irish Church, which was Celtic in form and spirit; and until 
Alfred’s time all literature was Northumbrian. It was natural, 
therefore, that Celtic influences should modify the development 
of the literature, and in the literature of Northumbria such 
influences appear in the following characteristics: love of 
nature; love for all living things, shown in stories about ani- 
mals ; love of the picturesque ; pathos. 

The Ecclesiastical History of Bede shows all of these char- 
acteristics to a notable degree. The love of natural objects, 
the picturesque legends of the saints, and the Celtic pathos are 
wrought together so naturally in Bede’s narrative that they 
impress us as the spontaneous expression of Celtic life and 
character. Bede tells how the Faith was brought to North- 
umbria through the preaching of Paulinus. And when King 
Edwin had convened his council to consider whether they 
should receive the new doctrine, one of his chief men said : 

“The present life of man, O king, seems to me, in comparison with 
that time which is unknown to us, like the swift flight of a sparrow 
through the room where you sit at supper in winter, with your com- 
manders and ministers, and a good fire in the midst, whilst the storms 
of rain and snow prevail abroad; the sparrow, I say, flying in at one 
door, and immediately out at another, whilst he is within, is safe from 
the wintry storm; but after a short space of fair weather, he imme- 
diately vanishes out of your sight, into the dark winter from which he 
came. So this life of man appears for a short space, but of what went 
before, or what is to follow, we know nothing. If, therefore, this new 
doctrine contains something more certain, it seems justly to deserve to 
be followed.” 1 

To the Celtic element in our literature we owe the Arthurian 
legends. Geoffrey of Monmouth, who wrote a History of 
the British Kings and among them the mythical Arthur, was 
a Welsh priest, and from some Welsh sources he gathered the 
materials of his story. To Walter Map, a native of the Welsh 
marshes, is assigned the credit for organizing this legendary 
material into a consistent story, and giving to it the spiritual 
significance — notably in the character of Sir Galahad — which 
endows it with artistic and permanent value and makes it one 
of the landmarks in our literary history. The Cycles of Ro- 
mance that came into England with the Norman are also Celtic 
contributions to the literature. There were the Charlemagne 
cycle — stories of Charles the Great and his court; the Alex- 
ander cycle — stories of Alexander the Great; and the Troy 

*Bede (672-735), “Ecclesiastical History,” 2, 13. 


201 


cycle — stories of the Trojan war. This new material dealt 
largely with a subject not much developed in the Old English, 
the subject of love. It also introduced the new metrical de- 
vice of rhyme. With this came a new regard for literary form 
and finish. Geofifrey Chaucer, our great poet of the Middle 
English Period, shows in the full these Celtic influences. The 
two monumental works of the fifteenth century are Sir Thomas 
Malory’s “Morte D’Arthur” and Lord Berner’s translation of 
"‘Froissart.” Both of these are Celtic. 

After Chaucer the voices were weak and soon they almost 
died away. There followed a long silence to be practically 
unbroken until “the spacious times of great Elizabeth” were 
ushered in with “sounds that echo still.” But this period of 
silence was not unimportant in English literary history. Disso- 
lution of many things was followed by a re-grouping of forces 
which gave our English a new vitality and freedom. In the 
fifteenth century died the Saxon alliteration and the Celtic 
romance ; then grew the ballad, the drama, and English prose, 
and in these the Saxon and the Celtic elements became merged 
and commingled. The conjunction of such influences in the 
time of Elizabeth produced such a literature as has never been 
surpassed in the history of the world. 

“Jt is not without sigruficance,” says John Richard Green 
in a reTerence to Shakespeare, “that the highest type of the 
race, the one Englishman who has combined in the largest 
measure the mobility and fancy of the Celt with the depth and 
energy of the Teutonic temper, was born in the old Welsh and 
English border-land in the forest of Arden .” 2 

Place . Place influences literary development even more than 
race. Man is himself a part of nature ; he develops in harmony 
with his environment ; he is ministered to by earth and sky and 
sea. Scattered over the earth, under varying conditions of 
life — food, climate, and the struggle to obtain the one and to 
endure the other — the races of men have become diversified 
and multiplied. Food and climate and work condition the 
physical and the intellectual organism : the rosy- faced English- 
man became a different man in New England, different in 
features and in intellect; English and American children in 
India, if allowed to remain there to maturity, suffer from re- 
tarded development both of body and of mind. It would 
seem that man instinctively feels the irresistible nature of en- 
vironment, for in his migrations he almost invariably moves 
along lines of least resistance which are, geographically, paral- 
lels of latitude. Thus he preserves unchanged those con- 
ditions which make temperament and emotions, and condition 
intellect ; and thus he preserves the integrity of race and type. 


’Quoted under “Shakespeare,” in Encyclopaedia Britannica. 


202 


Freedom is as native to Holland as to Switzerland. The low 
country and the high country are so far a departure from the 
mean as to entail upon their people a life of ceaseless conflict. 
Holland’s war with the sea and Switzerland’s war with the air 
have developed the same indomitable qualities. 

Holland is the hollow land, the low countries, the Nether- 
lands. The sea wont to sweep in over the marshes, and to 
range up and down through the land in innumerable streams 
has been dispossessed only in our own day, and is held back 
only by constant vigilance as it rushes along the dikes trying 
the strength of the barriers. The men of these marsh lands, 
in Caesar’s time, were the Belgians, and they were the bravest 
of the Gauls ; he describes the country and makes it clear that 
not men alone, but men and country together, combined to 
thwart the Roman legions. To live in such a land was to be 
free and self-reliant and strong. From this shore of the North- 
Sea came the Jutes and the Angles and the Saxons. 

The English did not materially change their habitat when 
they moved westward from the low coast of the continent into 
the island of Britain. Water and winter and storm and work 
were agencies that wrought together for the making of the 
English people and the English literature. The melancholy 
and the mystery of the North Sea, the endurance and courage 
born of cold and storm, and the seriousness and aspiration 
which come from toil and achievement — all these characterize 
our literature from the beginning until now. The traits are as 
constant as the environment. 

The physiography of a land may be inferred from the litera- 
ture of its people. Poetry, which is the natural literary form 
of expression for the emotions, is most sensitive to environ- 
ment and in subject and mood tells of the seasons, the weather, 
and the natural scenery — woods, streams, rocks, fens and desert 
places, valleys, hills, and sea-girt promontories. The natural 
scenery in Northumbria is said to have been so beautiful that 
it is accounted one of the reasons why a school of poetry rose 
and flourished there. There is the breath of the woods in it 
and the sound of the sea through it. This literary spirit lived 
in Northumbria until the overwhelming invasions of the Danes, 
which swept it all away. 

Time. The third important influence in the development of 
literature is the epochs of civilization. They find expression 
in books. Literature voices the ideals of the race. There are 
certain qualities which to all men seem desirable, as courage, 
truth, honor ; men normally wish to possess these qualities, and 
always and everywhere they are pleasurably contemplated. 
These ideals are enduring : men come and go, but these remain 
the same, forming a permanent unchanging basis of apprecia- 


203 

tion and interest. This is the essential, immortal element in 
literature. 

Not all the universal ideals find literary expression in a 
single age. Truth has many sides and one age never sees them 
all. Fortuitous circumstances and conditions form transitory 
ideals which give to each age distinctive tone. Six cycles con- 
stitute our Literature ; they may be named as follows : Pagan- 
Saxon ; Christian-Saxon ; Norman ; Elizabethan ; Augustan ; 
Victorian. 

A group of five poems constitutes the earliest cycle, and the 
character of these poems will illustrate the influence of Time. 
This oldest literature came in the ships with swords and shields. 
The Saxons were fighters and wanderers. Hence there are 
battle poems^ and poems of travel. Battle and travel are mo- 
tive-centers in the Pagan-Saxon Cycle. 

Civilization has developed new motives and other cycles, but 
the love of battle and travel has never failed. The English 
flag is native in every sea and the Englishman finds a kinsman 
on every shore. 

Individuality . Individualism means much in English Litera- 
ture. The Saxon freeman was, from earliest times, the politi- 
cal unit. The integrity of the individual, his rights and his 
privileges, and the recognition of the fact that the State exists 
for him — these are clearly implied in the ancient principles of 
English law. Jury trial, habeas corpus, and the independence 
of judges are the safeguards of the individual. The theory of 
the Saxon State exalted individuality. 

The twelve centuries of English Literature oversweep our 
lives like starlight with individual personal influences. 

The nebulous light of legend that envelops the poet Csedmon 
suggests the impressiveness of his personality. Says the old 
record, “Others after him strove to compose religious poems, 
but none could vie with him ; for he learned the art of poetry 
not from men nor of men, but from God.” With Shake- 
speare we feel the deep assertion of his individuality; it is 
the central tide amid the multitudinous seas. We feel the 
kindliness of Chaucer, the dreaminess of Spenser, the loftiness 
of Milton. We feel the stout-heartedness of Dryden, the hero- 
ism of Scott, the spirituality of Tennyson. 

English Rhetoric begins with English quality. Literature, 
which brings us this inheritance of personal influences, teaches 
us that English composition is a means of self-expression. 

2. The Field of Strategy. — The composition is the field of 
strategy. The plan of the composition projects and directs 
the rhetorical forces. 


204 


There are four conditioning influences in the field of strat- 
egy — the Self, the thought, the Other-Self, the occasion. 
These conditions are not obstacles, but opportunities. Other 
things equal, you choose that mode of style for which you have 
the greatest aptitude. There is diversity of gifts; if you have 
a gift for concrete description rather than abstract exposition, 
you will choose the mode of description; if you have a vivid 
personal sense of the Other-Self, you will choose the mode of 
argumentation. If you are free to choose your mode, it is your 
opportunity for effectiveness. The thought, the Other-Self, 
and the occasion are conditioning factors that likewise con- 
stitute opportunities for effectiveness. 

There is a problem of the primary modes — whether the com- 
position should be prose or poetry. The unexpressed Thing 
that is awaiting personal expression is to be given a medium 
fitted for it. The thing you wish to say may conceivably be 
• expressed in either prose or poetry ; that is, it may be expressed 
abstractly in prose, and so engage the reasoning faculty ; or it 
may be expressed figuratively in poetry, and so engage the 
imaginative faculty. Generally it is not the subject, but the 
motive that determines whether the form of expression shall 
be prose or poetry. When the motive is intellectual and logi- 
cal and the subject is viewed in an objective way, it should be 
expressed in prose; spiritual and material things, when ex- 
pressed as objects of knowledge, are prose. When the motive 
is so personal as to be emotional and the truth is so congenial 
as to be beautiful, it is properly expressed in poetry. The 
motive that leads to poetry is always personal experience. 

If the thought is a product of the reason, it is properly said 
in prose ; if the Other-Self is Peter Bell, he should be addressed 
in prose; if the occasion is commonplace, the composition 
should be prose. To write prose under such conditions is to 
advance along lines of least resistance and greatest effective- 
ness. Some persons are so constituted that they think in an 
objective way; they are unemotional and unimaginative; their 
thinking is the product of reason. Such persons are naturally 
constituted for prose; the obvious literal meaning is all that 
they perceive. To such persons the spiritual truth must be 
presented abstractly, for if it were presented poetically through 
material forms it would not be understood. In all composition 
the Self has to consider the personal characteristics of the 
Other-Self and present the truth in poetry or in prose, adapting 
it as wisely as he may : 

“And Truth is this to me, and that to thee; 

And Truth or clothed or naked, let it be.”* 


* “The Coming of Arthur,” in the “Idylls of the King.” 


205 


There is a problem of the secondary modes — whether the 
composition should be narration, description, exposition, or 
argumentation. These modes of style are very much mixed 
in literature. The great body of good writing is a background 
of exposition filled in with description and narration, touched 
here and there with the personal pronouns that are native to 
argumentation, and suffused with the congenial influence of 
poetry. 

Individuality conditions composition so fundamentally that 
the adequate recognition of individuality is of the highest im- 
portance. The efficiency of all composition depends upon the 
fine adjustment of language to individuality as involved in the 
Self and the Other-Self. It is not easy for us to know one 
another well, and yet the problem of composition involves such 
personal, individual knowledge. Each of us can bring to the 
problem of composition common sense, and sincerity, and sym- 
pathy; so we shall appreciate words like the following: 

“Let every one be himself, and not try to be some one else. God, 
who looked on the world he had made, and said it was all good, made 
each of us to be just what our own gifts and faculties fit us to be. Be 
that and do that and so be contented. Reverence also each other’s 
gifts; do not quarrel because I am not you, and I will do the same. 
God made your brother as well as yourself. He made you perhaps to 
be bright ; he made him slow ; he made you practical ; he made him 
speculative; he made one strong and another weak, one tough and 
another tender; but the same good God made us all. Let us not tor- 
ment each other because we are not all alike, but believe that God 
knew best what he was doing in making us so different. So will the 
best harmony come out of seeming discords, the best affection out of 
difference, the best life out of struggle, and the best work will be done 
when each does his own work and lets every one else do and be what 
God made him for.” 4 

3. Principles of Structure. — There are three principles of 
structure in rhetorical expression that are of essential impor- 
tance and of general application. These are adaptation, or- 
ganization, and characterization. Adaptation gives coherence 
to structure and develops the quality of clearness. Organiza- 
tion gives unity to structure and develops the quality of force. 
Characterization gives emphasis to structure and develops the 
quality of beauty. Adaptation is a principle of word relations ; 
organization is a principle of thought relations, and character- 
ization is a principle of stress arising from the relation of 
thought to words. 

Adaptation. Adaptation or coherence has to do with lan- 
guage. It is the adjustment of language as a mechanism, so 
that it will fit together. It is specifically “proper words in 

4 James Freeman Clarke (1810-1888), “Self-Culture: Every Man His 
Proper Gift.” 


2 o6 


proper places.” In the syllable it is a satisfactory combination 
of vowels and consonants, so that the sound is fitted to the 
sense. In the sentence it is a natural sequence in the syntax, 
so that words that belong together in sense shall stand together, 
and words that do not belong together shall be kept apart. In 
the paragraph it is a logical naturalness in presentation, so that 
^each end is a beginning. In the whole composition it is a 
‘'natural order of words, natural relations of words in natural 
and accepted meanings; and an adequate use of particles of 
transition and connection, and of words of explicit reference. 
The key to adaptation is to say what you mean, and the effect 
of it is naturalness. This is idiomatic English. 

Organization, Organization or unity has to do with thought. 
It makes the word express one thing, the sentence express one 
personal effect, the paragraph express one thought-progression, 
and it gives to the composition totality of effect. An organism 
is a living unity. A parasite is not a part of the organism fit 
is merely attached to it. A “tacked-on” phrase or clause is not 
organic, but is merely attached to the organism ; unity requires 
that it be cut off. Organic thinking is self-consistent thought 
working to an end. The intellective energy of the thinking 
mind sweeps through the coherent medium of words and trans- 
forms the mechanism into an organism. So it is that idiomatic 
English — the clear, coherent product of well-ordered thinking — 
commonly attains at the same moment adaptation and organiza- 
tion, clearness and force, coherence and unity ; for all the parts 
of the mechanism are themselves living forces like chemical 
elements awaiting only that composition which will permit their 
latent powers to flash together into a new compound. And 
this compound has all the attributes of wholeness; it has in- 
dividuality and the atmosphere of individuality ; it is a unique 
thing different from any of its parts or from the sum of all of 
its parts. There is neither too much nor too little ; there is no 
want and no waste. The composition has become a force 
through organization; the unified structure has become an or- 
ganism. The key to organization is to make everything in the 
composition contribute to one effect. 

Characterization. Characterization is the effect of stress. 
The graving chisel cuts into the stone and marks a character 
there. Experience marks personality, and the effect of it in 
personality is character. In language characterization is at- 
tained through stress ; in the word it is the accent that follows 
the sense by falling on the radical part of the word ; in the 
rhythm of the phrase it falls on an important word ; in the 
sentence and the paragraph and the composition it is the syn- 
thetic stress-center, concentrating the thought in the most ef~ 


207 


fective place. Napoleon massed battalions for attack and won 
by superior weight at the point of impact. In composition this 
is emphasis. Accent creates distinction by centering attention 
on certain points of expression. Language, like a house, is the 
home of a thought. Accent opens the shutters, and the light 
that is within’ shines forth. Then the beauty of the thought 
is seen, and if the language is so adapted and organized that it 
expresses the thought without materializing it, the effect is 
spiritual, and grace and beauty are its characteristics. The 
principle of emphasis is that ideas should be given places com- 
mensurate with their importance. Accent should follow the 
sense, so that thought-centers shall fall under the accent. The 
key to characterization and to the expression of beauty is 
emphasis. 

4. The Plan. — Composition requires clear thinking and or- 
derly arrangement. The thinker is a pioneer in the wilderness ; 
he blazes a path through the woods ; he makes a good, broad 
highway there ; he straightens it and grades it until he sees far 
and fares easily. The Chinese have a proverb : “The crooked 
tree, when it is large, will straighten itself.” 6 It is so with 
thinking. An alyze, Synthesize. and properly emphasize ; think 
it apart, think it together, and think it into rhythmic form. 
CleaF‘flMktng~eridsin an orderly arrangement and a plan, 
wRicffis an expression of the nature of the material, like crys- 
tallization, and not a mold shaping the material from without. 
The final mark .of a plan in literature is totality of effect ; this 
unity is the sign of organic life. In composition the beginning 
of the work is the plan. Think about it, work over it, and 
form the habit of treating the plan with care equal to its im- 
portance. Students of composition should deliberately make 
plans, studying the parts and functions, and should acquire 
facility in assembling, arranging, and constructing the frame- 
work. 

The erection of the steel frame of a modern building is a 
good object-lesson in composition. The blue-print plan is 
everywhere, and all the parts of the frame are marked and 
assembled, and then, in accordance with the plan, the black 
skeleton of steel rises and reaches out and takes form, and 
the building which was, first, in the mind of the architect, and, 
second, in the plans of the architect, is given full expression, 
at last, in steel and stone. 

The subject,, the theme , and the title are different phases of 
the same thing. These phases may be illustrated by this 
course of study. The subject is English — a broad field of 
knowledge ; it includes language, literature, rhetoric, and com- 


0 Smith, “Chinese Characteristics,” p. 173. 


208 


position. The theme of this course is the definition, “Rhetoric 
is self-expression through language.” This restricts the sub- 
ject English to “self-expression through language,” so that all 
of the interest of the language, literature, and composition finds 
expression in terms of this theme. The theme is stated pri- 
marily for the benefit of the J3elf ; it is a guide to the writer 
or speaker, showing him what he may use and what he must 
discard ; the theme is a standard for qualifying or disqualify- 
ing material. The title, English Rhetoric, is stated for the 
benefit of the Other-Self ; it introduces the subject to the 
Other-Self, implying that the rhetoric of -the English language 
is distinctive through personal quality. 

The word theme means somet hing laid down , like a geomet- 
rical proposition or a politicaT pTatfdrm. Our thinking be- 
comes definite and is projected in a theme, which for conven-' 
ience in use should be brief, accurate in its denotation, and 
felicitous in its connotation. " The theme is a definition of the 
composition, inclusive and exclusive, showing the limitation 
and the scope of it. Like the seed, it has 'the potency of the 
plant within it. The theme is the composition reduced to its 
lowest terms. It is a little essay in exposition, which the com- 
press of thought has put into small compass. If the theme of 
this course in rhetoric is correctly stated, it will explain and 
justify the entire development of the course. 

The title is the suggestive feature of the composition. This 
becomes apparent in the fascination of titles in the book-stores. 
The title of a book introduces it to the reader. It should be 
the expression of the relations of the thought to the Other- 
Self. It is therefore a little essay in argumentation. It should 
be brief ; it should express vividly the bond of personal in- 
terest; but the title should be true and conservative, for the 
reaction of disappointment is deadening. The title,* like other 
forms of argumentation, should attract, persuade, and con- 
vince. 

The introduction, the development, and the conclusion are 
essential parts of every plan. Aristotle says that “a perfect 
and whole action * * * is that which has a beginning, 

middle, and end,” and after defining these three terms, he 
adds : “Those who compose fables properly should neither be- 
gin them casually nor end them casually, but should employ 
the above mentioned forms.” 6 

5. The Introduction. — The introduction is the proper be- 
ginning of the composition., It may be either expressed or 
implied, but it must always be present in mind. An exception 


Aristotle (384-322 B. C.), “The Poetic,” Ch. 7. 


209 


that proves the rule is the editorial, which generally has no 
stated introduction, because its subject is a current question 
so well in mind as to require no statement. The function of 
the introduction, as the name indicates, is to introduce. The 
problem of bringing the occasion, the thought, and the Self 
into relation with the Other-Self, making a closed circuit of 
sympathy and interest, is the specific problem of the intro- 
duction. It is a means to an end and not an end in itself. 
All of the problems of the introduction are therefore relative 
and not absolute. The thought has to J^e introduced to the 
Other-Self under all the conditions that the occasion and the 
Self impose. In general, the thought, as contained in the de- 
velopment, controls the form of the introduction, and the 
Other-Self and the thought together control the nature of 
the introduction. 

Form. In form the introduction should be simple, distinct, 
brief, personal. 

"Tt shoulci Be simple. The introduction establishes a mental 
relation with the Other-Self ; it must begin simply and proceed 
with simplicity in structure and in thought; it is the easy and 
natural approach to the development. As the illustration 
should be clearer and easier to understand than the thing il- 
lustrated, so the introduction should be simpler than the de- 
velopment. 

It should be distinct. The form of the introduction should 
be a contrast to the development. The purpose of this is to 
show clearly that the introduction is not the development. If 
the development is abstract, the introduction may be concrete, 
or the reverse. If the development is narrative, the introduc- 
tion may be descriptive. This contrast in form between the 
introduction and the development emphasizes and enforces the 
proper function of the introduction, but care must be taken 
to , guide the intellect or emotion of the Other-Self through 
this contrasting medium to the basic thought of the composi- 
tion, and never to make the transition so abrupt that the emo- 
tional circuit is broken or the intellect taxed to see the con- 
nection. 

It should be brief. This rule is general, but the length is 
relative, being regulated by the development. The introduc- 
tion to a large volume would be longer than to a small one, 
the purpose in each case being to preserve a right sense of 
proportion between the introduction and the development. 
The chief danger is that the introduction be too long. The 
mind formulates an introductory statement and then swiftly 
supplies a sentence introducing this statement, and in this way 
an introduction becomes too long. Seek the nearest, most 
natural, and most direct approach to the subject. 


210 


It should be personal. The recognition of the Other-Self 
should be obvidus in the form of the introduction. Personal 
interest should characterize it. The colloquial standard domi- 
nates it. The first sentence is short and the language is simple, 
and the expression is so natural that the effect is personal, 
like a morning greeting between friends. If the introduction 
is narration, personal pronouns are native to it ; if description, 
the adjectives are epithets ; if exposition, the thought is axi- 
omatic; if argumentation, it is magnetic. DireQ.Ui£5S, attract- 
iveness, persuasiveness should characterize the introduction, 
and whatever will commend the Self, the thought, and the 
occasion to the Oth6r-Self. 

Function. The function of the introduction is to serve the 
Other-Self. Cicero and Quintilian say the function of the 
oratorical introduction is reddere auditores benevolos, attentos, 
dociles , which may be paraphrased as follows: to render the 
Other-Self well-disposed toward the Self, attentive to the 
thought, and teachable under the conditions of the occasion. 
These principles are applicable to all introductions. 

The first function of the introduction is to make the Other- 
Self well-disposed toward the Self. For a personal relation 
like this there must be a reasonable, ethical basis — a recogni- 
tion of common ideals and motives. Only such recognition of 
the common bonds of human society will render the Other- 
Self well-disposed toward the Self. This is the rational basis 
of the benevolent relation. When, in addition to this, a benev- 
olent feeling is diffused through the introduction, the emo- 
tional nature responds instinctively in kind, and the Other- 
Self is rendered well-disposed. In the introduction the Self 
and the Other-Self meet and go on together, and the nature 
of the introduction should sjir the reason., arouse interest, and 
conciliate the will, for two cannot walk together except they 
have agreed. 

The second function of the introduction is to make the 
Other-Self attentive to the thought. The first impression of 
the thought is very important; if the point of view is well 
chosen, this impression will be favorable. 

The introduction controls the approach to the thought, as 
the Propylasa controlled the approach to the Parthenon. The 
temple was seen from the most effective angle. 

The third function of the introduction is to make the Other- 
Self teachable under the conditions of the occasion. As these 
conditions are the product of the time, they have to be met 
in a manner embodying extemporaneous form and vigor. 
Words of courtesy, words of tactful reference and allusion, 
the claims of personal privilege, the dispelling of prejudice — 
all of these are forms of self-assertion that emphasize simple 


211 


manliness and strengthen the personal bonds of the Self and 
the Other-Self. Words that come from the heart render us 
teachable. 


6. The Development. — The composition is like an arrow. 
It is for use from the bow-string to the mark. The feathers, 
the, head, and the ^ha^— these are the introductiQn, the con- 
clusion, and tfie^jevejppment. The feathers guide it true, the 
head gives it poise and point, and the shaft is the arrow. 

The development is the unexpressed thing to which you 
seek to give personal expression. Whatever the mode of style 
or the character of the composition, the thing you wish to say 
is the development. 


First, there are things enough to say. It is so from early 
childhood : 

“The world is so full of a number of things 
I think we should all be as happy as kings.” 7 

Sensuous influences fill the world like sunshine. Words- 
worth’s “Ode on Intimations of Immortality” is poetry to 
every soul of us, because these things are true in personal 
experience, — 

* * * “truths that wake. 

To perish never; 

Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, 

Nor Man nor Boy, 

Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 

Can utterly abolish or destroy; 

Hence in a season of calm weather. 

Though inland far we be, 

Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea 
Which brought us hither, 

Can in a moment travel thither, 

And see the Children sport upon the shore, 

And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 


When we have outgrown the things of childhood, with the 
deepening of knowledge, with the conception of law, with 

“The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky,” 8 


we learn that there is a wisdom, beginning in childhood, that 
deepens and widens and sweetens to a good old age. There 
are things enough that are well worth saying. You will not 
forget that rhetorical composition is concerned not merely 
with the fact, but with the fact in your own experience— what 
it means to you. 


r Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894), “A Child’s Garden of Verses.” 
'“Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood. 
’Robert Browning (1812-1889), “Abt Vogler. 


212 


Second , you should know the thing you wish to say. This 
involves a process of hard thinking. It is quite likely that the 
thing is a bright subject on your mental horizon, like a blue 
line of hills : 

“’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view 
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.” 10 

You observe it, approach it, study it, seeking to understand 
your interest; and often in the process of thinking the bright- 
ness of the vision fades and iatejrest..i§.. lost in commonplace. 
But all the time you are gathering facts onedDy one until the 
vague subject of study is transformed into a subject of dis- 
tinct knowledge. Then the details merge again in a vision of 
latency. You have found the facts that explain and justify 
your emotion, and the hidden forces of these facts you pro- 
foundly feel. You see again the azure hue of the hills, but 
now you know the strength of the hills. 

It is significant that the enchantment of the first impression 
of the subject is generally precipitated in the theme. When 
the theme is truly derived and stated it is found that the azure 
hue is the theme. The original emotion and the final emotion 
are different in degree, but not in kind; for the original emo- 
tion was the deep responsiveness of the soul to a clear vision 
of truth, and the final emotion is the responsiveness of the 
soul to distinct knowledge of truth. Distinguish clear and 
distinct. Ckanineans. wiSiout dimness^ showing the object as 
a whole; d^mclmeans. -with. . definiteness, of detail, showing 
the composition of the object in the articulation of its parts. 

To know the thing you wish to say is a mental process that 
begins in emotion and progresses in the activities of the reason 
and ends with emotional appreciation. The original emotional 
interest is the projecting and directing force in the quest for 
knowledge. The facts that are gathered in the activities of 
the reason, developed and formulated and unified in the emo- 
tional atmosphere, constitute the substance of the develop- 
ment. 

In the process of thinking mere emotional interest becomes 
emotional appreciation based in knowledge. An illustration 
of this is in De Quincey’s essay, “On the Knocking at the Gate 
in Macbeth.” It is the account of a mental process that began 
with an emotional effect and ended with profound and dis- 
criminating appreciation of Shakespeare. He states the mo- 
tive as follows: 

“From my boyish days I had always felt a great perplexity on one 
point in Macbeth. It was this : the knocking at the gate, which succeeds 
to the murder of Duncan, produced to my feelings an effect for which 

“Thomas Campbell (1777-1844), “The Pleasures of Hope.” 


213 


I never could account. The effect was, that it reflected back upon 
the murder a peculiar awfulness and a depth of solemnity; yet, how- 
ever obstinately I endeavored with my understanding to comprehend 
this, for many years I never could see why it should produce such an 
effect.” XL 

The critical study concludes with a paragraph of emotional 
appreciation that is the result of perceiving the intellectual fine- 
ness of the work of Shakespeare: 

“O, mighty poet ! Thy works are not as those of other men, simply 
and merely great works of art; but are also like the phenomena of 
nature, like the sun and the sea, the stars and the flowers,— like frost 
and snow, rain and dew, hail-storm and thunder, which are to be 
studied with entire submission of our own faculties, and in the perfect 
faith that in them there can be not too much or too little, nothing use- 
less or inert, — but that, the further we press in our discoveries, the more 
we shall see proofs of design and self-supporting arrangement where 
the careless eye had seen nothing but accident.” 12 

Emotional interest arises from some deep experience of 
congenial influences, and the theme when we have found it 
generally crystallizes these influences into a proposition that in 
turn renews and deepens our emotional interest. 

To find, the theme is the first and most important quest 

There is an angle from which the symmetry and beauty of 
the Parthenon appear; there is a point where the statue lives 
and the tragedy is seen in the face. There is a sentence which 
will crystallize in a theme the thing you want to say. 

The way to find the theme you seek is to do your own think- 
ing first. The time will come when you can properly study 
the thoughts of others, but the thing as you see it can not be 
formulated except by your own thinking in your own way. It 
is not hard to be original if you start with an original vision. 
It is often noted that literature can not be taught, that the 
function of the teacher is to bring the student into direct rela- 
tion with the literature. Truth and the thinker should be in 
direct relation, if the thinker is to express himself about truth. 

Third, you should say the thing you wish to say. When 
once you have your theme and know the thing it would seem 
to be an easy thing to say it. And yet I have not found it so. 
It is a severe discipline to move as straight as an arrow-flight, 
to say what you want to say, to say it as plainly and simply 
under oratorical or literary conditions as you would under col- 
i 'al conditions. 



The processes of thinking involve two phenomena which 
should be specially noted — the Association , of ..Ideas, and the 
circle of Inductive-Deductive thinking. 


11 Thomas De Quincey, “Essays in Literary Criticism.” 

13 Ibid. 


214 


Association of Ideas. We find in experience that any idea 
tends to bring into the mind other ideas previously associated 
with it. The recognized laws of association are, first, the law. 
of contiguity, in virtue of which the mind associates things 
that have been before observed in contact, either in space, or 
in time, or in thought, or in personal associations ; second, the 
law of similarity and in virtue of which the mind 

“associates together things that have been observed in associa- 
tions of likeness or difference; third, t he law of cause and 

effect, in virtue of which the mind associates objects that have 
this known relation. 

The laws of association are active in all thinking. The first 
stage is the assembling and grouping of materials. The state- 
ment of the theme is the conclusion of a process of thinking 
that has led the mind over the entire field of inquiry. In this 
preliminary thinking we are conscious that mental activity, 
like magnetism in the midst of iron filings, develops movement 
and centers the thought and interest. The raw material of 
thought is formed into groups of thought in accordance with 
these laws of association. The first stage of mental activity 
culminates in the appearance in consciousness through the laws 
of association, of thought-centers of interest. 

Inductive-Deductive Thinking. The second noteworthy 
mental phenomenon is the circle of inductive-deductive reason- 
ing, by which the mind progresses from the concrete form of 
the thought to the abstract, and from the abstract to the con- 
crete again. Things appear in consciousness first in the con- 
crete, invested with all the qualities of bodily form. The 
mind, seeking to understand the concrete thing, and feeling 
that this thing cannot be understood until its essence is known, 
passes by comparison, abstraction, and generalization, to some 
knowledge of the inward and essential nature of the thing. 
So we come to know metaphysical things through things that 
are physical, and things' in the abstract through things in the 
concrete. The process by which we pass from the physical to 
the metaphysical, from concretion to abstraction, is inductive 
reasoning; the process by which we pass from the metaphys- 
ical or abstract to the physical or concrete form, is deductive 
reasoning. 

This process of thinking is well illustrated by the plan of 
Lord Bacon’s ‘‘Novum Organum.” He had written, “The 
sovereignty of man lieth hid in knowledge.” For the interpre- 
tation of nature his method was, first, inductive, from facts 
of common experience to form hypotheses; and, second, de- 
ductive, from these hypotheses to deduce new facts in nature. 
An illustration of his plan is the geometrical proposition by 
which, given three points on a circumference, a circle is con- 


215 


structed. There are a few known facts in nature by means 
of which the center or principle may be determined — this is the 
first part of the process, and this is induction. To use this 
center and principle for completing the circumference and 
deriving new facts — this is the second part of the process, and 
this is deduction. Bacon believed it possible to bring within 
the pale of knowledge the whole realm of nature. 

The characteristic work of the scientist in his laboratory is 
to study the physical reality, and by experiment and synthesis 
to discover the metaphysical reality. The scientific method is 
a posteriori , empirical, and inductive. 

The philosophical method is the method of authority, of the 
parent with the child, of the sage with the disciple; the child 
is credulous that he may learn quickly many important things 
from those whom he trusts. The philosophical method is 
a priori, authoritative, and deductive. 

The characteristic work of the philosopher in his solitude 
is to study the metaphysical reality and by reflection and infer- 
ence to create the microcosm or little world of the mind, which 
is a mental counterpart of the physical universe. We know 
in experience that abstraction will not stay by itself. It tends 
to creep over into forms, into visions and dreams, and con- 
crete expression. So abstract thought becomes a pattern of 
form, and these forms that are creations of ideality are images 
of perfection, showing what the imperfect things in the world 
about us may become. Study the vision of Prospero : 

“These our actors, 

As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
Are melted into air, into thin air: 

And, like the baseless fabric of 'this vision, 

The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, 

The solemn temples, the gre,at globe itself, 

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, 

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 

Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff 
As dreams are made on ; and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep. ,, 13 

The power of metaphysical realities lying in the depths of 
things has given under strange impulses philosophers and! 
prophets to the world. 

The usual mode of our thinking is not exclusively scientific 
or philosophical, but an inductive-deductive circle of thought,, 
from concrete through abstract to concrete again. The mind), 
drives the thought through the warp like a weaver’s shuttle.. 

The process of thinking, like seed-time and harvest, js a: 
circle. The theme, like the seed, is the end of an old circle 
and the beginning of a new one. Open the seed, and you find* 


u “The Tempest,” 4, 1, 14&-158. 


2l6 


a little plant within it; analyze the theme, and you find the 
development there. The theme with which you begin is the 
fruitage of some old harvest of thought. 

Self -Expression. But composition is not merely change 
from circle to circle, like the revolutions of mechanism. It is 
self-expression, organic with the life that some soul has given 
it. The character of the Self gives to every development a 
quality that was not in the theme. We should see to it tha£ 
composition is a process of evolution, opening and unfolding 
every theme into an ampler, higher form of living thought. 
The meaning of this you will find in “The Chambered Nau- 
tilus”: 


“Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul. 

As the swift seasons roll ! 

Leave thy low-vaulted past! 

Let each new temple, nobler than the last, 

Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, 

Till thou at length art free, 

Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea.” 14 

7. The Conclusion. — The conclusion is like a musical ca- 
dence, the satisfying close to a composition. In narrative, it 
is the end of the story where the lines of plot, character, and 
thought in a falling trajectory merge in a vanishing point. In 
description, it is the afterglow on the picture, making it linger 
in the memory. In exposition, it is the revelation of the pat- 
tern of the thought wrought in the warp and woof of the 
fabric. In argumentation, it is the closing of the circuit of 
conviction and persuasion informing the whole with character 
and power. 

The conclusion is not essentially different from the develop- 
ment. In substance, they are the same ; functionally they are 
distinct The development is like general culture in education ; 
it is a liberal, broadening influence. The conclusion is like 
specialization; it brings the development to a focus with all 
the increased efficiency that comes through concentration. The 
conclusion is indispensable, completing the thought like the 
conclusion of the syllogism, quieting the feelings through an 
emotional cadence that sweeps down to the horizon like a 
rainbow. 

The conclusion is the final form of the development. The 
elements have been so prepared that in the conclusion they 
flash into a new compound. The process is something like 
rope-making. There is a simple rope-machine called a “top”; 
it is a cylindrical piece of wood with grooves on its outer 
surface for the separate strands. The strands that come to 


u Oliver Wendell Holmes. 


217 


the "top” separately leave it as one rope. What the "top” 
does for the rope the conclusion does for the composition. 
Out of the mass three strands are spun, and after they are 
severally ready they are laid into a single line, and the strength 
of the rope is greater than the sum of the strands. "A three- 
fold cord is not quickly broken,” 15 and this strength, which is 
characteristic of the conclusion, is an essential part of the 
strength of the unified theme. 

The conclusion is naturally oratorical. The colloquial qual- 
ity of the introduction and theliterary quality of the develop- 
ment merge in the conclusion in a style of expression personal 
and dignified, with the swift appeal of the spoken word and 
the permanent power of the thoughts that dwell in the deep. 
Here at the end, with the drive and the lift of the composition 
behind it, the conclusion moves in long sentences with the light 
of imagination upon them, and personality deep and strong 
is felt in the rhythm, like surges awakened at sea that roll in 
to the shore. 


15 Ecclesiastes 4, 12. 


N 


CHAPTER IX 


THE PARAGRAPH. 


i. The Theory of the Paragraph. — The paragraph ex- 
presses a single thought-progression. It is the unit of the 
plan. The paragraph is distinctively the element of thought 
as the sentence is the element of the Self. Logical quality is 
expressed in the paragraph and personal quality in the sen- 
tence; so it is that the sentence is the unit of style and the 
paragraph is the unit of invention. The paragraph is a sen- 
tence or group of sentences expressing a single thought-pro- 
gression. 

The rise of this paragraph function in the eighteenth cen- 
tury followed the disappearance of the long sentence of the 
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. This is more than a 
coincidence. When the long sentence went down the para- 
graph rose to clear definition in the exercise of this function, 
for this function had been the proper office of the long sen- 
tence. 

The long English sentence that flourished when Latin was 
preeminently the language of scholars was not due solely to 
Latin influence, but to the more fundamental influence of 
cloisteral seclusion conditioning all scholarly composition. In 
such seclusion men wrote their thinking down, and the forma- 
tive influence of thinking produced a sentence for each 
thought-progression. When the social conditions of the 
eighteenth century brought men into converse in clubs and 
coffee-houses, the sentence was modified to meet the new con- 
ditions. Sentences became short and expressive of personal 
quality and tone, and the function of expressing thought-pro- 
gressions, no longer exercised in the sentence, fell to the para- 
graph. 

The paragraph now presents, as the sentence once did, a 
form of words corresponding to the form of thinking. We 
think in a stream-line running through many details to some 
conclusion — a single progression of thought. 

I made record of a thought-progression that, came to me in 
the early morning, appearing in consciousness, in simple units 
of impression on a background of anxiety about the weather 
for the coming day : 

Gray light through the shutters — morning stillness — back in the 
night — thunder — lightning — flurry of rain on the roof — wind in the 
trees like surf — silence now and calm — all waiting — still birds— wet 

(218) 


219 


fields — quiet homes among the trees — the gray still river under the gray 
shy — the Mason’s Island woods — old woods of the coast heavy and 
damp— -a boat at her Noank moorings — an old verse — “Thunder in the 
morning” — a doubtful day. 

This constitutes one thought-progression. It appears in con- 
sciousness like the sudden clicking of a telegraph instrument 
in a country railway station. It comes out of silence without 
warning, it runs continuously and ceases in silence again, and 
the operator writes the message. So it is with a thought- 
progression ; it passes in consciousness and we write it down 
in a single paragraph. 

2. G««d F#rm in Paragraphs. — The paragraph is a form of 
composition adopted as an aid to expression. Good form is 
therefore the very purpose for which the paragraph exists. 
Voice and manner interpret the paragraph to the ear, but it 
appeals primarily to the eye through the printed page. 

The paragraph is the smallest distinct group in composition. 
Syllables and words and sentences are run together contin- 
uously, but paragraphs are distinct. The paragraph, the chap- 
ter, the book, are logical groups formulating composition in 
accordance with some principle of thought-association. The 
paragraph is a unit of the plan, a composition in miniature, a 
single thought-progression. The function of the paragraph 
is to express a unit of thinking; the form of it should express 
unity. 

For printing the indention of the line is governed by the 
length of the line: a line of five inches or less, one em; of 
more than five inches, two ems. For typewriting the inden- 
tion of the line is ten spaces. For manuscript the indention 
is one inch. Do not think indention unimportant; it is to the 
eye a formal beginning. The eye sees first the beginning and 
then the end ; the ear notes first the end and then the be- 
ginning. Consequently the most important places are the 
beginning and the end. Like the ellipse with two axes, the 
paragraph focuses at the two ends. The organic structure of 
the paragraph conforms to this. The action, the theme, the 
personal meaning center at the beginning and the end ; this is 
the primary stress of the paragraph. The eye runs from para- 
graph to paragraph, and the narration, the description, the ex- 
position, the argument, shines from these organic centers. The 
form of the paragraph is such an aid to expression that the 
trained reader- is able to go rapidly from center to center — the 
beginning and the end of each paragraph. As the voice fol- 
lows the accent in a line of pcetry, so the mind follows the 
stress of the thought from paragraph to paragraph. 

Practice good form in paragraphs until all the details of 
conventional requirements and good usage become second 


220 


nature. See to it that all paragraphs look like paragraphs, that 
the beginning and the end give the gist of the paragraph, and 
that each paragraph have such structural unity that it is pos- 
sible to reduce it to the lowest terms in which a complete 
thought can be expressed — that is, to a single sentence. 

3. Kinds of Paragraphs. — Thinking proceeds in units of 
movement. In the forms of poetry these units are stanzas or 
strophes; in the forms of prose they are paragraphs. The mo- 
tive of the composition which differentiates the secondary 
modes of style develops different kinds of paragraphs. 

Narration is a mode of the imagination the characteristic 
effect of which is^ action, and narrative paragraphs have for 
their distinctive function the expression of action. Descrip- 
tion is a mode of the imagination the characteristic effect of 
which is vision, and descriptive paragraphs have for their dis- 
tinctive function the expression of vision. Exposition is a 
mode of pure reason the characteristic effect of which is ab- 
stract thought, and expositive paragraphs have for their dis- 
tinctive function the expression of abstract thinking. Argu- 
mentation is a mode of reason and imagination; as a mode of 
reason its structure and its paragraphs are expositive, and as a 
mode of imagination its structure and its paragraphs are de- 
scriptive and narrative. 

In narration the action is told by the author in his own 
words and by means of indirect discourse, or it is presented 
by means of direct discourse. If the author tells it, the para- 
graph is Epic; if the actors speak it in soliloquy or dialogue or 
general colloquy, the paragraph is Dramatic. 

In description the vision is one scene" or more than one. If 
it is one scene, the paragraph is Pictural; if it is an ordered 
succession of scenes, the paragraph is Panoramic . 

In exposition the order of thinking is deductive, by a process 
of analysis, in which case the paragraph is Substantive ; or it is 
inductive, by. a process of synthesis, in wilfch case the para- 
graph is Adjective, or it combines analysis and synthesis, in 
which case the paragraph is Composite. 

In argumentation the thought is addressed primarily to the 
reason or to the imagination. If the primary motive is to con- 
vince through the faculty of reason, the paragraph is a para- 
graph in exposition, and is classified accordingly. If the pri- 
mary motive is to persuade through the faculty of imagination, 
the paragraph is in description or narration, and is classified 
accordingly. 

The kinds of paragraphs are the following: 

. Narrative Paragraphs : Epic, Dramatic. 

Descriptive Paragraphs : Pictural, Panoramic. 

Expositive Paragraphs: Substantive, Adjective, Composite 


4. Narrative Paragraphs. — Narrative composition is epic 
or dramatic. In the epic form the author tells the story in his 
own fashion, by means of his own words or the words of his 
characters in indirect discourse. In the dramatic form the 
actors in the story present it by means of their own words in 
direct discourse, with little or no explanation by the author. 
When epic and dramatic elements are combined in the same 
paragraph, the paragraph should be classified in accordance 
with the dominant element. 

Epic Paragraphs. In epic narration the story is removed 
from direct observation and is told by the author. The effect 
upon the imagination varies with the character of the action. 

If the action is tranquil, the epic atmosphere deepens the 
tranquillity through similarity of effect. In such a case the 
action is kept well within the paragraph and the atmosphere 
at the beginning and the end envelops the action with tranquil 
influences. The following paragraph is tranquil epic narra- 
tion : 

“Certain it is, that he was a great favourite among all the good wives 
of the village, who, as usual with the amiable sex, took his part in all 
family squabbles ; and never failed, whenever they 'talked those matters 
over in their evening gossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van 
(Winkle. The children of the village, too, would shout with joy when- 
ever he approached. He assisted at their sports, made their playthings, 
taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told them long stories 
of ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever he went dodging about the 
village he was surrounded by a troop of them, hanging on his skirts, 
clambering on his back, and playing a thousand tricks on him with 
impunity ; and not a dog would bark at him throughout the neighbour- 
hood^ 1 

If the action is intense, the epic atmosphere deepens the in- 
tensity through contrast. In such a case the action centers at 
the beginning and the end of the paragraph. The following 
paragraph is intense epic narration: 

“No more firing was heard at Brussels — the pursuit rolled miles away. 
Darkness came down on the field and city ; and Amelia was praying for 
George, who was lying on his face, dead, with a bullet through his 
heart.” 2 

Dramatic Paragraphs. In dramatic narration each speech is 
a paragraph. A person says all that he wishes to say, and 
stops; his speech is the expression of a complete thought- 
progression, and it constitutes, therefore, one paragraph. The 
novels of Jane Austen are dramatic narratives. The following 
dialogue in “Pride and Prejudice” illustrates the principle of 
paragraphing in the dramatic form of narration. Mrs. Ben- 


1 Washington Irving (1783-1859), “Rip Van Winkle.” 

2 William Makepiece Thackeray (1811-1863), “Vanity Fair,” Ch. 3^,. 


222 


net has announced to Mr. Bennet that Netherfield Park is 
taken by a young man of large fortune : 

“What is his name?” 

“Bingley.” 

“Is he married or single?” 

“Oh, single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune — 
four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls !” 

“How so? How can it affect them?” 

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” replied his wife, “how can you be so tire- 
some? You must know I am thinking of his marrying one of them.” 8 

5. Descriptive Paragraphs. — Descriptive paragraphs appeal 
through language to the eye of the imagination. The key to 
descriptive composition is vision, and one object of vision is one 
thought-progression and one paragraph. The object of vision 
is one scene or more than one ; if it is one scene, the paragraph 
is pictural ; if more than one, the paragraph is panoramic. 

In the pictural paragraph the point of view and the outline 
of the scene stand in clear relief in important places, and the 
amplification diffuses light through the picture. The imagina- 
tive light of a pictural paragraph is like the sun rising upon a 
landscape, constituting an effect of simple unity. In the pano- 
ramic paragraph there is a succession of scenes merging in one 
effect of vision. The imaginative light of the panoramic para- 
graph is a changing view like the effect from a car window, or 
like the vistas of memory enveloped in one atmosphere, consti- 
tuting a complex unity. 

Pictural Paragraphs. One scene makes a pictural paragraph. 
The sky, the land, the sea, and spiritual effects in personality 
presented sensuously supply the subjects of pictural para- 
graphs. When the character of a person is presented to the 
eye of the imagination through his appearance, his acts, his 
words, the unit of effect makes a pictural paragraph. The 
effect of light upon the water in the following paragraph is a 
single scene making it pictural: 

With Latimer’s Reef lighthouse abeam we tacked westward towards 
Noank in the afterglow of the sunset. The east with the white of the 
Latimer’s Reef tower upon it was indigo blue, already dusky with 
night. Above the masthead the sky, ultramarine and deep like the sea, 
sharply enveloped the yellow spars and the gray- white sail. All was 
blue save the glowing west and the water beneath it — the still water of , 
the flats in front of Noank, The water then was a wonder of reflected 
color. There were patches of orange and dusky red, and where the 
wind stirred the still water, there appeared ripples of blue, light blue 
with sunshine in it, like a memory of summer mornings, running and 
spreading and losing itself in the deepening orange. And around these 
color mazes the water was gray -white. Over Noank, dim-green and 
dark in the shadows, the copper sky radiated light. Surges of a great 

* Jane Austen (1775-1817), “Pride and Prejudice” 


223 


arc of yellow light swept back 'the gloom and kept the blue vault clear, 
with influence that touched the edges of night with beneficence, and 
saved the heart from loneliness, and left us thinking of the providence 
of God. 

Panoramic Paragraphs. An ordered succession of scenes 
merged by the imagination in one effect constitutes a pano- 
ramic paragraph. It is always a moving picture in which the 
action is subordinated, and the principal effect is vision. In 
the following paragraph the effect is a succession of scenes as 
the ships come sailing by: 

“At the Oldfield moorings of a summer afternoon with the blue river, 
and the gray ledges of Pine Hill, and the green points of the junipers 
fretting the sky, and the yellow sunshine and the sea-air, — it is all a 
kind of dream mirror and the ships of long ago come sailing by. The 
sloop Buck is going out to Aquidneck and the “Bay.” She is low and 
wide and black and her bows are as round as a bended bow, and the 
head of her mainsail hangs like the outstretched wing of an ominous 
bird. And, now it is April ’76 and the galley Shark is rowing down to 
follow the army with Washington. She is sixty feet long and crowded 
with men — men of your name and mine. The sound of the oars is in 
the still, crisp air and voices now and then. They are loosing the sails 
for the wind by and by and the long war boat, like a gray shadow, slips 
along the shore. So have I seen the Man-of-War Brig Flambeau come 
sailing down as she did in a November snowstorm in 1814, with the 
water under her forefoot like drifted snow. Her reefed foretopsail is 
lifting, lifting, and her old-fashioned shape is coming through the sift- 
ing snow. ’Tis a stormy wind behind her, and the sound of her rush- 
ing is like the continues wash of water on a sea beach. On the fore- 
castle is one of my townsmen of long ago, and he raises his hand to 
the man at the wheel, as he pilots the Flambeau out of the river, before 
the northeast gale with the enemy’s ships in the Sound. They have all 
gone down to the sea — one by one.” 

In the following paragraph distinct memories of Noank en- 
veloped in one atmosphere are merged by the imagination in a 
single panoramic effect: 

I remember the fishing smacks coming in from the eastward Saturday 
afternoons, and gathering one by one at their mooring stakes opposite 
the wharves on the east side of the channel. And on gray Sundays when 
the chill east wind blew in from the sea, and the white surf on Wico- 
pesset showed the rough weather off shore, the whole sea front of the 
village was set with a forest of masts and a net-work of rigging that 
moaned in the wind. And there was quietness in the. village streets 
save for the deep harmony of the wind and the sea, while in the white 
meeting house on the hill, the men of Noank and their families had 
gathered for the service of the Lord’s Day. I remember Elder Howell’s 
text on a Sunday morning many years ago,J‘Who are these that fly as 
a cloud, and as the doves to their windows?” 

6. Expositive Paragraphs. — Paragraphs in exposition are 
units of reasoning. If the plan of the composition involves 
six units of reasoning, the development of the plan requires 
six paragraphs. Expositive paragraphs are substantive, based 


224 


on abstract concepts; or adjective based on concrete phenom- 
ena; or composite, involving both substantive and adjective 
processes. 

Substantive Paragraphs. The purpose of the substantive 
paragraph is the cultivation of truth and its method is analysis. 
It starts with a concept, given or found, and cultivates a better 
appreciation of it by analysis and meditation. 

The following paragraph begins with a concept having the 
authority of the Bible, and by analysis this principle is applied 
to the American people to cultivate appreciation of the truth. 
It is a substantive paragraph : 

“The Almighty has his own purposes. ‘Woe unto the world because 
of offenses ! for it must needs be that offenses come ; but woe to that 
man by whom the offense cometh.’ . If we shall suppose that American 
slavery is one of those offenses which, in the providence of God, must 
needs come, but which, having continued through his appointed time, 
he now wills to remove, and that he gives to both North and South 
this terrible war, as the woe due to those by whom the offense came, 
shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes 
which the believers in a living God always ascribe to him? Fondly do 
we hope — fervently do we pray — that this mighty scourge of war may 
speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the 
wealth piled by the bondman’s two hundred and fifty years of un- 
requited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with 
the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said 
three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, ‘The judgments of 
the Lord are true and righteous altogether.’ ” 4 

Substantive paragraphs include all that begin with a propo- 
sition, all that proceed by analysis, all that aim to cultivate ap- 
preciation of truth. Introductory, concluding, transitional, 
amplifying paragraphs are generally substantive. The intro- 
ductory paragraph is generally a survey and analysis, the con- 
cluding paragraph is generally based on an appreciative con- 
ception, the transitional paragraph is generally some phase of 
analysis, and the amplifying paragraph is generally a process 
of cultivation. 

Adjective Paragraphs. The purpose of the adjective para- 
graph is the discovery of truth. It proceeds from percepts to 
concepts by a method of synthesis. It begins with observed 
phenomena and seeks the meaning of things by inference and 
induction. It is a mode of inquiry. Like a periodic sentence, 
the adjective paragraph has the forward look, the effect of 
suspense, and the order of climax. The forward look in- 
volves the incentives of curiosity, the suspense of meaning 


4 Abraham Lincoln, Second Inaugural Address, March 4, 1865. 


225 


involves cooperation of mental effort, and the order of climax 
involves anticipation, which is satisfied in the concept of truth 
at the end. Curiosity, cooperation, anticipation, give to the 
adjective paragraph" The strongest possible appeal to the mind. 
The power to discover concepts of truth through the adjective 
processes of inductive reasoning is the most dignified of the 
mental powers, and the exercise of it is attended with the most 
satisfying exhilaration of mind. 

The above paragraph is itself an example of the adjective 
paragraph. Observed phenomena are cited in order to gain 
a clear conception of the principle of this kind of exposition. 
All adjective exposition deals with phenomena, with attributes 
and properties of things, in order to gain clearer conceptions 
of the things themselves. 

The following paragraph defining agitation leads to a clearer 
conception of the duty of college-bred men. It is an adjective 
paragraph. 

“I urge on college-bred men, that, as a class, they fail in republican 
duty when they allow others to lead in the agitation of the great 
social questions which stir and educate the age. Agitation is an old 
word with a new meaning. Sir Robert Peel, the first English leader 
who felt himself its tool, defined it to be ‘marshalling the conscience of 
a nation to mould its laws.’ Its means are reason and argument, — no 
appeal fb arms. Wait patiently for the growth of public opinion. That 
secured, then every step taken is taken forever. An abuse once re- 
moved never reappears in history. The freer a nation becomes, the 
more utterly democratic in its form, the more need of this outside agita- 
tion. Parties and sects laden with the burden of securing their own 
success cannot afford to risk new ideas. ‘Predominant opinions/ said 
Disraeli, ‘are the opinions of a class that is vanishing/ The agitator 
must stand outside of organizations, with no bread to earn, no candidate 
to elect, no party to save, no object but truth, — to tear a question open 
and riddle it with light/’ 6 

Composite Paragraphs. Exposition, as a rule, is not ex- 
clusively substantive or adjective, but composite. The general 
concept is the end of the adjective process and the beginning 
of the substantive process, and it is the necessary medium of 
progress from one particular thing to another. Thus I ob- 
serve a tree and derive from it the general concept tree, and 
by means of this abstraction I recognize another tree. As a 
rule we do not begin with abstraction; we do not stop with 
abstraction ; we begin and end with a particular thing. 

The following paragraph is composite. It begins and ends 
with particular things that center in the principle, a house 
divided against itself cannot stand. The first half of the para- 

6 Wendell Phillips (1811-1884), Centennial Phi Beta Kappa oration at 
Harvard, June 30, 1881. 


226 


graph is adjective, the second half is substantive; as a whole 
it is composite. 

“If we could first know where we are, and whither we are tending, 
we could better judge what to do, and how 'to do it. We are now far 
into the fifth year since a policy was initiated with the avowed object 
and confident promise of putting an end to slavery agitation. Under 
the operation of that policy, that agitation has not only not ceased, but 
has constantly 'augmented. In my opinion, it will not cease until a crisis 
shall have been reached and passed. ‘A house divided against itself 
cannot stand/ I believe this government cannot endure permanently 
half slave and half free. I do not expect the union to be dissolved — I 
do not expect the house to fall — but I do expect it will cease to be 
divided. It will become all one thing, or all the other. Either the 
opponents of slavery will arrest the further spread of it, and place it 
where the public mind shall rest in the belief that it is in the course of 
ultimate extinction; or its advocates will push it forward till it shall 
become alike lawful in all the States, old as well as new, North as 
well as South.” 6 


•Abraham Lincoln. From a speech at Springfield, 111 ., June 16, 1858. 



CHAPTER X. 


THE SENTENCE. 


i. The Unit of Style. — The sentence is the unit of style. 
Style is personal quality struck into composition, "ancT’the 
effect of this we call force.. Force is the psychic bond that 
holds the attention. Yhe sentence incorporates one unit of 
this psychic influence which the Other-Self experiences in one 
unit of attention. 

If we should imagine force as a mode of motion appearing 
in language in phenomena of light, we might then, in the 
processes of composition, watch for the first pale glow in the 
words indicating rhetorical quality. So we should see force, 
which proceeds from the Self, result in style, and so we should 
perceive how style is of the man himself. 

If style manifested itself in composition by an emanation of 
light, we should see clearly a number of things that are of 
rhetorical importance. 

We should note , fir st, that the light never appears until the 
circle of the sentence is complete. Observe the effect you ex- 
perience in listening to a speaker who has a habit of pausing 
in the midst of a sentence. The sentence is a period — a circuit 
of words. It is not a live circuit until the sentence is complete. 

We should note, second, that no two sentences shine alike; 
the light would vary directly with tlie inspiration of personal 
forces in the composition. We should note that one sentence 
shines dimly, another flashes with intensity, a third is but a 
glowing ember, a fourth burns evenly. The written page is 
like the open sky with the scattered light of stars of different 
magnitudes. 

We should note, t hird, that the spectrum of light, in the sen- 
tences of the same writer remains the same. You know that 
this is true with Carlyle; you know that it is true with every 
writer whose style you really know well ; you know that so far 
as your own sentences satisfy you, it is in virtue of distinctive 
quality in them personal to yourself. As your style develops, 
the quality of your sentences becomes more invariably your 
own. Your composition at last will have no alien quality. 
The light that shines in the sentence, if the sentence shine at 
all, is the characteristic effect of personal force. When we 
express ours elves in composition the effect is rhetorical. The 
effect proceeds from the Self, and the character of the Self is 
the characteristic quality of the style. 

(227) 


228 


~We should note, fourth, that the spectrum of light in sen- 
tences of different writers is differentT “There is individual 
distinctiveness in the sentences of Edmund Burke, Charles 
Lamb, John Ruskin, Washington Irving, Nathaniel Haw- 
thorne. 

The lights of literature become like the coast lights of home. 
I have counted the coast lights around the horizon, one by one, 
Stonington, Watch Hill, Latimer’s Reef, Montauk, Ram Island 
Lightship, North Hummock, Race Rock, Little Gull Island, 
Bartlett’s Reef Lightship, New London Ledge, New London 
Harbor, Noank Light. They shine for all mariners, in all 
weathers, and the comfort of each is its own invariableness, 
whether white or red, whether flashing, revolving, or fixed. 
We know each light in its own place. Each is constant in its 
own way through the night, and this constancy is our trust. 
These little lights of the coast-line are kindred to the greater 
lights in the firmament. All good literature is like these lights 
in the night. 

2. Theories of the Sentence. — The eighteenth century 
marked an important change in the theory of the sentence in 
English rhetoric. Before that time the sentence was relatively 
long, averaging from forty to sixty words; after that time the 
sentence was relatively short, averaging from twenty to forty 
words. The general average of sentence-length in Sidney, 
Hooker, Bacon, Milton, Taylor, is 50.7 words to the sentence. 
The general average of sentence-length in Johnson, Burke, 
Macaulay, Carlyle, DeQuincey, is 26.5 words to the sentence. 

The Thought-Progression Theory. The long sentence devel- 
oped on the theory that it is the function of the sentence to ex- 
press a single thought-progression, and that the sentence is, 
therefore, the unit of thought. A thought-progression is a 
unit of purposive thinking, the result of one purpose with the 
effect of logical completeness. In the rise of English prose 
this theory of the function of the sentence prevailed through 
the periods characterized by literary exclusiveness and seclu- 
sion. The five factors in composition are the thought, the 
word, the occasion, the Self, and the Other-Self. So long 
as literature was fostered solely by a small class of scholars, 
and the Other-Self was always a highly specialized recluse like 
the Self, the common quest of truth centered attention on 
thought to the exclusion of the Self and the Other-Self, and 
all the social influences involved in the problems of self-ex- 
pression and personal discourse. Through the English renais- 
sance, likewise, the enthusiasm of the new intellectual life was 
a zeal for thought. The prose of the sixteenth and seven- 
teenth centuries was written under renaissance influences, em- 


229 


phasizing thought and cherishing the theory that the sentence 
should express a single thought-progression. 

The thought-progression theory produced very long sen- 
tences. Only very long sentences will sustain a general aver- 
age of 60.5 words, which is the average sentence-length in the 
first book of Bacon’s “Advancement of Learning.” Milton’s 
general average in the Areopagitica is 50 words. He ridicules 
the writers of short sentences, saying in the “Apology for 
Smectymnuus,” “Instead of well-sized periods he greets us 
with a quantity of thumb-ring posies.” He considers it an 
indignity “to lie at the mercy of a coy, flirting style; to be 
girded with frumps and curtal gibes, by one who makes sen- 
tences by the statute, as if all above three inches long were 
confiscate.” The second sentence of Milton’s pamphlet “Of 
Reformation” has 378 words. The longest sentence in the 
“Areopagitica” has 196 words. Another sentence from the 
“Areopagitica,” with 163 words, may be cited as a good ex- 
ample of the long sentence expressing a single thought-pro- 
gression with more than one unit of style: 

“First, when a City shall be as it were besieged and blocked about, 
her navigable rivers infested, inroads and incursions round, defiance 
and battle oft rumored to be marching up even to her walls and 
suburb trenches, that then the people, or the greater part, more than 
at other times, wholly taken up with the study of highest and most 
important matters to be reformed, should be disputing, reasoning, read- 
ing, inventing, discoursing, even to a rarity, and admiration, things not 
before discussed or written of, a rgues first a singular goodwill, con- 
tentedness, and confidence in yourprudent foresight and safe govern- 
ment, Lords and Commons ; and from thence derives itself to a gallant 
bravery and well-grounded contempt of their enemies, as if there were 
no small number of as great spirits among us, as his was, who, when 
Rome was nigh besieged by Hannibal, being in the city, bought that 
piece of ground at no cheap rate, whereon Hannibal himself encamped 
his own regiment.” 

The thought of this sentence turns on the word argues. 
This is the center of synthetic stress; it is the eighty-sixth 
word, placed in the sentence at the point of 52.7 per cent. The 
thought is balanced with almost mechanical exactness; the 
poise and unity of the thought-progression show the hand of a 
master. 

There are four phases of movement in this thought-progres- 
sion: (1) a city besieged, (2) the people taken up with highest 
matters of reform, (3) singular trust in government and con- 
tempt for enemies, (4) like Rome besieged by Hannibal. 
These four phases are points of personal effect affording an 
opportunity for as many short sentences, each a unit of style. 

The long sentence presenting a succession of personal effects 
is like a melody of personal quality and tone. The fine, long 


230 


sentences of the Elizabethans are invariably like this. Hooker 1 
has one sentence with 527 words in it, constituting one thought- 
progression, merging many personal effects. This single sen- 
tence contains no less than seven units of style — the basis for 
seven sentences. 

The New England chronicle of John Gallop’s sea fight with 
the Indians is told in Hubbard’s Indian Wars 2 in one Eliza- 
bethan sentence of 558 words. 

Jeremy Taylor, in the “Holy Dying,” 3 has a formal periodic 
sentence with 352 words in it, all so closely knit together in a 
wonderful monotone of style that, although the thought of a 
chapter is compressed into a single thought-progression, the 
sentence itself is both a unit of thought and a unit of style. 

The Style Theory. The short sentence resulted from the 
theory that it is the function of the sentence to express a single 
personal effect, and that the sentence is therefore the unit of 
style. When in composition words begin to affect us as per- 
sons do, so that we feel ourselves solicited by kindred influ- 
ences, we have then experienced an effect of style. Composi- 
tion expresses thought commending it to belief. In experi- 
ence we value more and more the personal basis of belief. In 
composition this personal basis is the Self. The Self is the 
basis of confidence in the thought, and literature is the thought 
expressed in terms of the Self. The great personal influences 
of the English Renaissance were wrought unconsciously into 
composition/ the books that were written must have been 
potent in awakening that personal consciousness that made the 
eighteenth century a social century. When that awakening 
came, the thinker ceased to be a recluse; he came to enjoy the 
expression of his own thinking, and to value the thinking of 
others. The Self and the Other-Self gained new importance 
as factors in composition. This fascinating personal effect 
which was experienced in conversation became the prime mo- 
tive in composition. The new motive wrought itself out on 
the sentence, making it a unit of self-expression. So naturally 
the old thought-progression theory was supplanted by the 
theory that the sentence is the unit of style. 

\The difference between these two theories — the first empha- 
sizing thought and the second emphasizing the Self — —is not 
very apparent in sentences of medium length. Either theory 


‘“Ecclesiastical Polity,” 5, 76. 

2 Rev. William Hubbard (1621-1704), “A Narrative of the Trouble 
with the Indians in New England from the first planting thereof in 
the year 1607, to the present year 1677.” 

•“Holy Dying,” 1, 1, 3. 


231 


will explain such sentences. Every sentence expresses a 
thought, and with the meaning the sentence is capable of re- 
ceiving and expressing that personal influence which we call 
style. Every sentence must have — expressed or implied — a 
subject and a predicate; these elements give to the sentence a 
unit of thought, and if the sentence be rhetorical it will have, 
also, at least one unit of style. And here the two theories 
diverge, for the unit of thought is capable of developing to 
great length, while the unit of style is naturally short. 

3. Sentence-Length. — In general, it may be accepted as a 
rule that the printed sentence should not be longer than can be 
seen at one glance, and the spoken sentence should not be 
longer than can be spoken in one breath, and the sentence, 
whether printed or spoken, should not be longer than can be 
apprehended by the Other-SelT in one unit of attention. 

The first rule addressed to the eye is for the literary stand- 
ard; the second rule addressed to the ear is for the colloquial 
standard ; the third rule addressed to the capacity for atten- 
tion is a general rule for all standards. The principle that is 
safeguarded in these natural limitations is that of sentence- 
unity. If the sentence is the unit of style expressing a single 
personal efifect there must be nothing to disturb this unity — 
neither two glances nor two breaths nor the succession of 
two units of attention. The ear-sentence expressing a per- 
sonal effect in one breath is the shortest; the eye-sentence 
conveying a personal effect in one glance is somewhat longer; 
the endurance-sentence expressing a personal effect within 
the limit of a unit of attention is the longest. In practice 
the ear-sentence is the fundamental influence, because all 
rhetorical composition affects us actually or imaginatively as 
the sound of a voice speaking under the physical limitations 
of speech. This influence tends to make the sentence-length 
of literature no greater than that of talk. As thought absorbs 
attention the sentences become longer, the sounds become rela- 
tively remote, and the eye of the mind sweeps through longer 
periods that shine in the depths of thought. But everywhere 
in these lengthening periods the burden of attention will bring; 
the sentence to a close within twenty-five seconds. 

The old scholars did not imagine their sentences primarily as-, 
speech, but as thought, and under the influence of thought- 
progressions sentences were very long. With the awakening; 
of the social sense, however, the conditions of speech became: 
the conscious formative influence in sentence-structure, and 
in the coffee-houses conversation became literature. With the 
progress of criticism and the rise of critical standards sen- 
tence-length was affected by a new consciousness of style. 


232 


This reduced still farther the sentence-length, for style is per- 
sonal, and personal effects are brief. 

Three motive-centers have affected the sentence-length of 
English prose from the days of Elizabeth until now. 

The first is the motive-center of silent thought, and its 
sphere of influence is the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. 
This is the sphere of the long sentence, expressing in its en- 
tirety a thought-progression under the influence, also, of Latin 
models, periodic and formal. 

The second is the motive-center of conversation, and its 
sphere of influence is the eighteenth century. Lowell, writing 
about Dryden, calls this period “the level of easiest prose.” 
There is emancipation from the periodic formal influence of 
classical Latin ; sentences become personal in tone and shorter 
and looser, with an emergence of idiomatic English quality. 

The third is the motive-center of style* and its sphere of 
influence is the nineteenth century and all current prose. Sen- 
tence-length becomes shorter and the structure firmer and 
finer. We seek to achieve and to guard that naturalness 
which is the highest art. 

4. Sentence-Structure. — The sentence forms. of recognized 
rhetorical importance are three — Loose, Periodic , and Bal- 
anced. All of these forms are natural expressions of corre- 
sponding states of mind, and they should be used only when 
they properly express organic forms of thinking. Guard natu- 
ralness. Write no sentence that will not stand this test. There 
is no more harmful thing in rhetorical theory than to explain 
a recognized rhetorical form as artificial. All good forms, 
periodic sentences, balanced sentences, are impulsive natural 
forms of self-expression. 

Loose and periodic sentences are complementary; all sen- 
tences that do not Belong in one class are in the other. Eighty- 
five or ninety per cent of all sentences in current good English 
prose are loose; the rest are periodic. The balanced sentence 
has no necessary relation to the loose sentence or to the 
periodic sentence. Either the loose or the periodic may give 
the rhetorical effect of balance. The normal activity of the 
reasoning faculty develops a loose sentence that is not bal- 
anced, and in judging the structural character of sentences 
the benefit of every doubt should be given to the normal loose 
form that is not balanced. In this way only will the statistics 
of study accord with the effects of reading. The determina- 
tion of the periodic and the balanced percentages is so subject 
to the variation of judgment of different persons that the 
results of such studies should be received with some allow- 
ance for a margin of error. The percentages in the table were 


233 


calculated and verified in the work of college classes in a 
course in English Prose. They show individual characteris- 
tics and the trend of change in sentence-structure for three 
hundred years. 


Average SentencE-eength and Percentage oe Periodic and Baeanced 
Sentences. 


Author. 

Book. 

Date. 

Length. 

Peri- 

odic. 

Bal- 

anced. 

Ascham 

. The Schoolmaster 

15 7<T 

43-2 

20.3 

21. 1 

Eyly 

Euphues 

1579 

36.7 

17.6 

49-3 

Hooker 

Ecclesiastical Polity 

1593 

41.7 

25.6 

14 

Sidney 

. Defense of Poesie 

1595 

46 

18.9 

19.7 

Bacon 

. Advancement of Learning.. 

'idor 

60.5 

16.4 

29 

Browne 

, Religio Medici 

1642 

43-6 

II. 7 

10.8 

Milton 

, Areopagitica 

1644 

50 

18.2 

7 

Taylor 

. Holy Dying 

1651 

55*4 

13.7 

24 

Bunyan 

Grace Abounding 

1660 

41. 1 

8.4 

8.3 

Cowley 

. Essays 

1660-67 38.9 

8-9 

13-3 

Dryden 

. On Satire 

1692 

41.2 

I4.9 

15.4 

Swift 

, Battle of the Books 

1697 

40.8 

5-2 

11. 2 

Addison. . . 

. Sir Roger de Coverley 

1711 

39 

7 

15 

Steele 

. Sir Roger de Coverley 

1711 

36.6 

8.8 

6.6 

Johnson. . . 

. Rasselas 

1759 

24.7 

5-4 

8.5 

Burke 

. Present Discontents 

1770 

35 

12.6 

8.8 

Macaulay. . 

♦ Warren Hastings 

1841 

22.4 

6.8 

6-5 

Carlyle 

. Heroes and Hero Worship. 

1841 

22.9 

11. 9 

5-5 

D 3 Quincey. English Mail Coach 

1849 

27.8 

7 

5-8 

Stevenson. 

. The Merry Men, Ch. I 

i88i_ 

- 38.5 

19.7 

00.0 


The Loose Sentence. The loose sentence is the natural 
form under normal intellective conditions. The elements of 
the sentence occur in the direct order — the subject with its 
limitations and the predicate with its modifiers. All of the 
material is built into the sentence in the logical order as the 
meaning supplies it, so that the meaning grows with the sen- 
tence and the words make sense in the order in which they are 
used. 

The artlessness that is the highest art is realized only in the 
loose sentence. The sentence so clear as to express the 
thought and be itself forgotten is always a loose sentence. 
The quality of perfect naturalness is the highest quality in 
composition, and this is the essential quality of the loose struc- 
ture. Addison, and Goldsmith, and Washington Irving wrote 
such sentences. The following from Irving is an example of 
the loose sentence: 

“He saw at a distance the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving 
on his silent but majestic course, with the reflection of a purple cloud, 
or the sail of a lagging bark, here and there, sleeping on its glassy 
bosom, and at last losing itself in the blue highlands.” 4 


4 Washington Irving (1783-1859), “Rip Van Winkle.” 


234 


Phrase by phrase it is complete in sense, the meaning un- 
folding continuously. The figure of the Hudson, “moving on 
his silent but majestic course/’ is a little allegory interpreting 
truly the characteristics of the loose structure. 

The Periodic Sentence. The essential characteristic of pe- 
riodic structure is suspense ; the sentence does not mak e sense 
until the end and it must be long enough for suspense. Peri- 
odic structure is 'the product of emotional activity and pur- 
posive thinking. The oratorical standard supplies these con- 
ditions in immediate relations of the Self and the Other-Self, 
stirring emotional activity, and mutual interest in the conclu- 
sions of thinking. Hence it is that the largest percentage of 
periodic sentences is found in oratorical composition. 

Suspensive effect is the power and the limitation of the 
periodic sentence. Up to a certain point suspense stimulates 
and develops curiosity. The tension of interest will at last 
break when the intellectual burden of suspense becomes too 
tiresome. Hence the periodic sentence should not be very 
long; it should never be pushed to the point of the breaking 
strain. The periodic structure is really a form of emphasis, 
and the power of it is in the temperate use of it. 

The following passage from “The Merry Men” illustrates 
an effect of suspense developing naturally a periodic sentence : 

“It was near the top of the flood, and the Merry Men were roaring- 
in the windless quiet of the night. Never, not even in the height of 
the tempest, had I heard their song with greater awe. Now, when the 
winds were gathered home, when the deep was dandling itself back 
into its summer slumber, and when the stars rained their gentle light 
over land and sea, the voice of these tide-breakers was still raised for 
havoc.” 6 

The first sentence presents a fundamental idea of balance in 
the roaring of the waters and the quiet of the night. This 
balance is an undertone throughout. But the roaring of the 
Merry Men is pervasive, persistent, awful, developing the sus- 
pense of the periodic form, and the overwhelming surge of it 
rises through three balanced clauses to the majestic poise of 
the last line — “the voice of these tide-breakers was still raised 
for havoc” — where havoc completes the period in the sound 
of the falling wave. This is style where the Self’s interpreta- 
tion of the thought develops and controls the form of the 
sentence. 

The Balanced Sentence. Balanced structure is the product 
of imaginative activity. The essential characteristic of the 
balanced structure is the use of the parallelism of similarity 

8 Robert Louis Stevenson, “The Merry Men,” Ch. 5. 


235 


or contrast. This is in most instances the figure compari- 
so n^Tfie^feTic i ty of which is in the number of correspondences 
and suggestions engaging the imagination. 

The rhetorical balance should be distinguished from the 
grammatical balance : grammatical 



presented usually in a compound 


is a matter of effect presented in pairs *f words, phrases, 
clauses, or sentences having mutual correspondences that ap- 
peal to the imagination. The effect may be a balance of sound 
in alliteration or assonance of mutually corresponding sylla- 
bles ; it may be a balance of thought in ideas mutually related 
in the composition ; it may be a balance of structure in a par- 
allelism of phrase and clause. 

In Lyly’s “Euphues” forty-nine per cent of the sentences 
are balanced; the effect is pervasive and mechanical. The 
form is rather a mannerism than a personal effect, for the 
habit of formal balance dominates the composition enslaving 
the Self to a fashion in the word. 

Balance as an effect of style is developed naturally in the 
following sentences from the Gettysburg Address: 

‘‘But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate — we cannot consecrate — 
we cannot hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who 
struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add 
or detract. The world will little note nor long remember what we 
say here, but it can never forget what they did here.” 

Half of the sentences in the Gettysburg Address are bal- 
anced ; this is a percentage equal to Euphues. But “Euphues” 
is an effect of mannerism, while Lincoln’s Address is an effect 
of style. The balance is fundamental in the thought as Lin- 
coln interpreted it. Balance is characteristic of Lincoln’s 
style, because his thought dealt with the issues of conflict. 

5. The Rhetorical Clause. — A clause that has the rhetorical 
effect of a sentence, but is used as a member of a compound 
sentence, is a rhetorical clause. The rhetorical clause is a sim- 
ple unit of style. When the successive units of style are tuned 
together by pervasive feeling these units form coordinate mem- 
bers of a compound sentence ; when the successive units have, 
distinct tone themes they form distinct and separate sentences* 
In the punctuation of compound sentences rhetorical clauses 
are separated by semi-colons or colons. 

The function of the rhetorical clause is to carry the weight 
of thought in simple units of rhetorical effect that leave the 
mind without weariness, and give scope and range for the per- 
sonal effects of style in a sustained succession of coordinate 
rhetorical clauses. The function of the paragraph is to ex- 
press a unit of thinking. The function of the sentence is to 


236 


express a unit of style. The unit of style is usually a shorter 
effect than the unit of thinking; therefore the rise of the para- 
graph function left the sentence free to express the short per- 
sonal effects of style. When the tone is sustained through 
long passages the rhetorical clause expresses the simple unit of 
personal effect, and the sentence expresses the coordinated 
unity of the whole. In this way the sentence is given perfect 
freedom, on the one hand from the weight of long thought- 
progressions, and on the other hand from the emotional light- 
ness of successive personal effects. Colloquial style has many 
short sentences expressing simple units of personal effect. 
Literary style has longer sentences embodying the consistency 
of tone that is an element of permanency. The simple units 
of style are short. Simple sentences and rhetorical clauses 
make it possible to express these simple units of style in a free 
succession of metrical movement like the lines of an ode. The 
beat of the metrical line is the simple unit of style ; the deeper 
surge of the rhythm is felt in the longer sentences. The 
rhetorical clause completes the emancipation of the sentence. 
The sentence is free to fulfill the high function of expressing 
the rhythm of style. 

6. Punctuation. — Punctuation controls movement. Like 
the guidons and the colors in a marching column, giving dis- 
tinction to the passing companies, the marks of punctuation 
are the distinctive signs of the composition. It is the function 
of the marks of punctuation to relate and to separate the parts 
of the composition, to accelerate or retard the movement, to 
stop it with an interrogation mark, to start it with an exclama- 
tion mark, to introduce a category with a colon, to round the 
phrase with a comma, to coordinate the clause with a semi- 
colon, to stop the sentence with a period. 

Period. The period marks the end. The word period 
means the way around , the circle of the way. It is used as a 
name for the sentence itself, and also for the mark of punctua- 
tion that ends the sentence. 

A sentence is one circle of statement constituting a unit of 
personal effect, and this is called a period. When the circle of 
statement is complete and the way around is ended a mark of 
punctuation terminates it, and the usual terminal mark is also 
called a period. 

A period is a mark of completion. It is used after an ab- 
breviation to show that the abbreviated form stands for the 
whole. 

In punctuation to use periods well it is necessary to know 
sentences well. This is not a grammatical knowledge but a 
rhetorical knowledge. If every unit of judgment were iso- 


237 


lated all statements would be simple sentences. Composition, 
however, is a personal organization of language, and every 
unit of personal effect is a sentence, simple or compound or 
complex, according to the personal impulse that develops and 
formulates it. 

When the sentence is a question, it is ended with the mark 
of interrogation; when it is an expression of emotion, it is 
ended with the mark of exclamation; if it is unfinished, it is 
left with a dash. In all other cases the end of the circle of a 
sentence is marked by a period. 

Colon. The word colon means a member . It stands be- 
tween the members of a statement and exercises both a termi- 
nal and a relational function : it shows, first, that each member 
is a grammatically complete statement; it shows, second, that 
the members are related, with the outlook and emphasis turned 
forward to the member following. 

A colon stands at the end of a statement introducing a long 
quotation; it stands at the end of a statement introducing a 
category of specifications; it stands at the end of a formal 
salutation in the beginning of a letter; it stands between the 
metrical periods in prose intended for chanting; it stands in 
poetry between the related members of sustained poetic pro- 
cesses where the forward movement of creative imagination 
continues through long periods. 

Semicolon. The semicolon has a terminal and relational 
function to be distinguished from the colon in that it is less 
formal and that it carries no forward emphasis. It is the 
usual mark of separation between the clauses of a compound 
sentence; it is the usual mark of separation between parts 
already sub-divided by commas ; between parts made specially 
distinct by a change of subject in the clause, or by the omis- 
sion of particles of transmission and connection. The semi- 
colon is widely useful for pointing out the parts of a sentence 
that have to a degree the independent character of a sentence 
member. This is a reminiscence of its origin and of its name — 
semicolon. 

Comma. The word jcomma means something cut off. It is 
the most common mark of punctuation. The function of the 
comma is to punctuate subordinate parts of sentences for the 
sake of clearness and emphasis. ... It is used to punctuate subor- 
dinate clauses, parenthetical expressions, phrases requiring 
such distinction, the words in a series ; it stands at the end of a 
statement introducing a short quotation ; it stands after an in- 
fofmal salutation in the beginning of a letter. The comma is 
a mark of separation; the omission of the comma will make 


238 

closer the sequences of the sentence structure. The punctua- 
tion follows the sense, as in the case of the additive relative 
who or which introducing a new thought, which is set off by a 
comma, and the restrictive relative that limiting an old thought 
and not set off by a comma. 

Punctuation is an element of considerable importance in the 
composition of forces constituting the problem of expression. 
It has a rhetorical function enhancing the expressiveness of 
language; it accelerates, it retards, it lightens effects, it inten- 
sifies effects; it sensitively adjusts language to the mood and 
temperament and character of the Self, to the nature of the 
thought, to the spirit of the occasion. Punctuation is ex- 
tremely flexible and adaptable and it can contribute much to 
the fine expressiveness of composition. 

The best text-book of punctuation is a well-edited book. 
The printed page gives examples everywhere of the various 
effects of punctuation, of close punctuation with many commas 
thickly strewn between the phrases, or of open punctuation 
with few commas and unobstructed movement. American 
life like Elizabethan life is intellectually sensitive and in- 
tense. Under quickening impulses the expression of thought 
becomes more rapid and more copious. American books show 
this; the processes of the composition are swift; punctuation 
shows this in relatively few marks. Open punctuation is one 
of the characteristic signs of the times. It gives few marks 
to catch the eye and delay the voice; it emphasizes unity 
through simple structure and coherent word-succession, having 
a homogeneous effect as natural as gravitation. Open punc- 
tuation accelerates the movement, lightens the emphasis, leav- 
ing the thought in a stream line of simple effectiveness. 

7. Evolution. — Sentence-structure and sentence-quality, 
through three hundred years, show true evolution. Evolution 
is the passing “from an indefinite, incoherent homogeneity to a 
definite coherent heterogeneity.” It concerns both matter and 
motion, which in composition corresponds with the language 
and structure of the sentence as the material medium, and with 
the quality of force in the sentence as the personal energy en- 
duing it with style. 

Three hundred years ago English sentences were relatively 
homogeneous. The long sentences were somewhat vague and 
formless: the thought-progressions in the uninflected English 
did not achieve the clear-cut periodic style of the inflected 
Latin. Inflections kept the meaning clear in the Latin models ; 
lack of inflections left the meaning vague in the complex 
thought-progressions of the English. There were great ex- 
ceptions of course in the masters of Elizabethan prose. But 


239 


the average percentage of periodic sentences in Sidney, 
Hooker, Bacon, Milton and Taylor is 18.56 per cent. The re- 
maining sentences, 81.44 per cent, maintained the general aver- 
age of sentence-length at 50.7 words to the sentence, and these 
were the formal, dignified words of the literary standard. 
This sentence-structure was neither periodic nor loose; it was 
ponderous- — monotonously ponderous and vague. And if the 
spirits of divinely-gifted men brooded upon these sentences 
they were nevertheless without form and void, like the face of 
the waters before the world was made. 

Not only was the sentence-structure relatively homogeneous, 
but the sentence-quality was also relatively homogeneous. So 
long as the sentence is viewed as a record of thought and not 
as an expression of style, the quality of force in the sentence 
will be primarily like the energy that presses the button for a 
kodak picture. When style, however, becomes the motive in the 
sentence, the composer becomes the interpreting force in the 
composition and the new sentence becomes as different from the 
old one as a painting is from a photograph. The great writers 
afford examples of composition so filled with personal forces 
that it is necessary to say that the style of the composition is 
an achievement of genius over unwieldy structure. If all sen- 
tences were as full of wonderful personal influences as those 
that are scattered like stars through the Elizabethan sky, we 
could afford to be indifferent to the lack of conventional theory 
in the triumph of individual practice. These Elizabethans 
began with relatively homogeneous sentences, and they quick- 
ened them with the personal effects that developed the stand- 
ards of a later time. 

Stevenson says the one thing is to be infinitely various. This 
is the heterogeneity of modern sentences. No sentence is like 
any other, for each sentence has for its function the personal 
interpretation of some thought, and the sentence so composed 
will have individuality. 

The modern sentence is definite. Language in use becomes 
more and more specialized ; words have more definite meanings 
and more clear-cut applications. The force-quality in the sen- 
tence has a definite character; it is an interpretation. The 
meaning is definite and the personal effect is definite. The sen- 
tences in the composition blend in the pattern of the thought, 
and they harmonize in the pervasive and consistent quality of 
style. But each sentence has its own function, and in the ex- 
ercise of that function it has no uncertain sound, but is indi- 
vidual and definite. 

The modern sentence is coherent. Sentences are shorter 
and more natural than they used to be. Sentence-structure 


240 


has tended to simplicity, and this tendency has made the rela- 
tions of words in the sentence more obvious. Coherence re- 
ceives close attention in modern composition, and neglect of it 
is inexcusable. Coherence is a quality of cohesiveness among 
the words of the sentence constituting them a stream-line of 
meaning. This is a problem of syntax, putting words together 
that belong together, finding the proper place for every word, 
so that each word shall perform its function in its own place, 
and no detached or parasitic word shall cause incoherence by 
usurping the place that belongs to another. With the preva- 
lence of grammar and idiom and recognized principles and 
standards the evolution of coherence has been consummated 
in modern sentences. 

Modern sentences are definite, coherent, heterogeneous. 

. They are definite, as a result of adapting them to the thought 
and the Other-Self. Bad manners and mental instability are 
t immeasurably troublesome in discourse. Sentences hard to 
understand because they are too long, or rambling, or frag- 
mentary, or foolishly exclamatory and emotional are an offence 
to the Other-Self. Sentences with a thought-atmosphere too 
rare or too dense beset with mental mirage or mental fog lack 
the dignity that belongs to thought. Clear-thinking and social 
influences have developed definiteness. Modern sentences are 
coherent as a- result of applying the principle of adapting them 
to the native form and usage of the word. The want of tech- 
nical standards or the neglect of technique has been the cause 
of incoherence in sentences. We have well-recognized stand- 
ards; we have correct forms, established usage, and English 
idiom. Neglect of these is without excuse; attention to these 
gives knowledge of technique, and practice gives mastery of 
technique. The standardizing influence of good literature and 
the serious, sensible study of language as a means of expres- 
sion have developed coherence. Modern sentences are heter- 
ogeneous as a result of adapting them to the Self. The style- 
theory of the sentence at once makes the sentence subservient 
to the Self. Each sentence is the expression of an individual 
personal effect. The personal effect of sentences in modern 
composition is like maple leaves in the fall that cover the 
ground with reds and yellows and browns in a pattern blended 
but infinitely various ; each leaf is a maple leaf definitely beau- 
tiful but different from every other leaf. 

8. Sentence-Studies.— The sentences of Carlyle are like 
himself. In the Library of Congress is a picture in the series 
on the Evolution of a Book, called “The Cairn.” Primitive 
men are carrying stones to the top of a cliff by the sea. The 


241 


sentences of Carlyle are like this ; they are rugged. This man 
is what Coriolanus wished his boy to be: 

“Stick i’ the wars 

Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw 
And saving those that eye thee.” 6 

This is Carlyle’s memorial to the words of Homer: 

■'Homer yet is, veritably present face to face with every open soul 
of us; and Greece, where is it? Desolate for thousands of years; 
away, vanished; a bewildered heap of stones and rubbish, the life and 
existence of it all gone. Like a dream; like the dust of King Agamem- 
non. Greece was ; Greece, except in the words it spoke, is not.” 7 

If a man whom I did not know should come silent before 
me and stand waiting, the natural question would be, “Who 
are you”? If he should speak such sentences as these I should 
feel that to some degree I knew him. In these sentences Car- 
lyle is, in his way, veritably present face to face with every 
open soul of us. This is the dignity of every rhetorical sen- 
tence, that it is the meeting-place of the Self and the Other- 
Self. 

Jeremy Taylor, who was called the Chrysostom of the Eng- 
lish pulpit, in a book remarkable for poetic prose, has this 
sentence : 

“In the same Escurial where the Spanish princes live in greatness 
and power, and decree war or peace, they have wisely placed a ceme- 
tery where their ashes and their glory shall sleep till time shall, be no 
more ; and where our kings have been crowned their ancestors lie in- 
terred and they must walk over their grandsire’s head to take his 
crown.” 8 

The structure, the movement, and the effect of this sentence 
show the character of it. The structure is balanced — every- 
thing is by twos, “greatness and power,” “war or peace,” “their 
ashes and their glory,” “our kings * * * their ancestors” ; 

in the general form of it the Escurial is balanced by Westmin- 
ster Abbey. The movement is musical; the phrases are per- 
fectly rhythmical; each, member of the sentence has a fine 
cadence, — the first, “till time shall be no more,” the second, “to 
take his crown”; the sequence of the measures is the solemn 
music of a chant. The effect is imaginative ; it is not so much 
an appeal to the reason as a suggestion to the imagination. It 
awakens secret chords of thought in the Other-Self. What 
does the Escurial mean to you, what the Apocalyptic allusion 
“till time shall be no more,” what the mortuary stateliness of 
the English kings? The balance of word and phrase, the in- 

• “Coriolanus” 5 , 3, 73-75. 

7 “Heroes and Hero-Worship,” Lecture 3. 

•Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667), “Holy Dying,” Vol. I, ch. I, sec. 2. 


242 


wrought music of the composition, and the sombre panoply of 
empire work together into a sentence of imaginative prose ex- 
pressing spiritual meaning clothed in various imagery as. the 
Other-Self shall interpret it. And this is the characteristic 
style of Jeremy Taylor. 

Jane Austen begins “Pride and Prejudice” as follows: 

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in posses- 
sion of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” 9 

This is not colloquy, but the author’s^ own statement... Yet 
your first thought, probably, is that it is not true. It is not 
your opinion; you do not believe it is the author’s opinion. 
It is delicate irony, a form of humor mildly satirical. In the 
third sentence Mrs. Bennet, the mother of four interesting 
daughters, begins the conversation, and the first sentence has 
prepared you to see that it is her opinion. Jane Austen in one 
sentence shows Mrs. Bennet’s world, and this sentence is in 
the manner of Jane Austen. It is her style. 

In “Emma” the gentle Mr. Woodhouse speaks about his 
daughter’s children : 

“They are all remarkably clever; and they have so many pretty 
ways. They will come and stand by my chair and say, ‘Grandpapa, 
can you give me a bit of string?’” 

Jane Austen described her own manner of work as a “little 
bit (two inches wide) of ivory, on which I work with so fine a 
brush, as produces little effect after much labour.” This satire 
that expresses the gentle inanity of Mr. Woodhouse is an ex- 
quisite miniature so sweetly done that the poet Dryden would 
have loved the satirist. Of such writing he said : 

“It is not reading, it is not imitation of an author which can produce 
this fineness; it must be inborn; it must proceed from a genius and 
particular way of thinking, which is not to be taught, and therefore 
not to be imitated by him who has it not from nature.” 10 

Edmund Burke, whose memory is the glory of the House of 
Commons, expressed himself in the following sentence of 177 
words, in eight clauses attuned together into one personal 
effect : 

“I call it atheism by establishment when any state shall not acknowl- 
edge the existence of God as a moral governor of the world; when it 
shall offer to him no religious or moral worship; when it shall abolish 
the Christian religion by decree; when it shall persecute with a cold, 
unrelenting, steady cruelty, by every mode of confiscation and im- 
prisonment, exile, and death, all its ministers ; when it shall generally 
shut up or pull down the churches; when, in the place of that religion 


9 Jane Austen (1775-1817). 

10 John Dryden (1631-1700), “A Discourse on Satire.” 


243 


of social benevolence and individual self-denial, in mockery of all re- 
ligion, it shall institute impious, blasphemous, indecent rites, in honor 
of their vitiated, perverted reason, and erect altars to the personifica- 
tion of their own corrupted and bloody republic; when schools and 
seminaries are founded at the public expense to poison mankind from 
generation to generation with the horrible maxims of this impiety; 
when, wearied out with incessant martyrdom and the cries of a people 
hungering and thirsting for religion, they permit it only as a tolerated 
evil — I call this atheism by establishment.” 11 

Macaulay, in describing the scene of the trial of Warren 
Hastings, wrote thus of Burke, the foremost of his accusers : 

“There was Burke, ignorant indeed or negligent of the art of adapt- 
ing his reasonings and his style to the capacity and taste of his hearers, 
but in amplitude of comprehension and richness of imagination su- 
perior to every orator, ancient or modern.” 

You will find it an exercise of value to study the sentences 
of Burke for their “amplitude of comprehension and richness 
of imagination.” 

The style of Macaulay has been one of the great tidal influ- 
ences. Jeffreys, in the Edinburg Review, wondered where 
Tom Macaulay had picked up that style. It was a crystalliza- 
tion of Macaulay’s own proper qualities. His observation was 
clear, his memory was perfect, to be sure of things was his 
habit of mind ; his thinking he expressed in correspondent lan- 
guage. Presentive words of vivid sensuousness, heightened 
by antithesis and sown through the prose like corn in a field 
come up in ranged symmetry of emphasis, artificial like metre 
in poetry and fascinating for its novelty in prose. 

The following sentence, with the beat of the rhythmic 
phrases falling on centers of splendid emphasis, is character- 
istic of Macaulay: 

It was the great hall of William Rufus, the hall which had resounded 
with acclamations at the inauguration of thirty kings, the hall which 
had witnessed the just sentence of Bacon and the just absolution of 
Somers, the hall where the eloquence of Strafford had for a moment 
awed and melted a victorious party inflamed with just resentment, the 
hall where Charles had comforted the High Court of Justice with the 
placid courage which has half redeemed his fame.” 12 

From Bacon to Macaulay the average sentence length of 
English prose decreased from sixty to twenty-two words. 
Macaulay marks the shortest sentences. A sentence average 
of twenty-two words is a standard that developed through a 
long period of simplifying influences bringing the sentence 
down to a simple unit of style. The style of Macaulay was a 


"“Thoughts on a Regicide Peace.” 

12 Thomas Babington Macaulay (1800-1859), “Essay on Warren Hast- 
ings.” 


244 


creation so fine that it fixed a fashion and a model in English 
prose. It was the end of the movement to reduce the Eliza- 
bethan sentence to a personal effect, and it is not strange that 
the metrical beat of that movement in Macaulay’s sentences 
is somewhat too strong. From the time of Macaulay the Eng- 
lish sentence shows more freedom and grace, with a strength- 
ening of idiomatic English quality. 

Rhetorical Analysis of the First Chapter of “The Merry Men," 
by Robert Louis Stevenson. 


Number of Words 2,539 

“ “ Sentences 66 

“ “ Simple Sentences. . .1 8 

“ “ Sentences with two or more Rhetorical Clauses.... 31 

“ “ Simple Units of Style ,r 109 

Average Sentence Length 38.5 

“ Length of Simple Units of Style 23.5 

Percentage Simple Sentences 51.5 

Two-Clause Sentences 33.3 

Three-Clause Sentences and over 15.2 

Periodic Sentences 19.7 

Balanced Sentences 00.0 

Monosyllables .... * 76 

Dissyllables 19.7 

Trisyllables and over 4.3 

Native English 94.3 

Presentive Words 37.8 


Tone Themes in Rhetorical Clauses and Sentences Arranged in 
Paragraphs with the Number of Words in Each 
Rhetorical Unit. 

(Sentences are separated by a colon, clauses by a dash.) 

First paragraph. Two sentences. 

Last time (21) : at Grisapol (ii) — a cheerful heart (35). 

Second paragraph. Seven sentences. 

I (19): Gordon Darnaway (25)— Mary Maclean (10)— the sea-girt 
farm (19): the means of life (15)— ill-fortune (9)— cumbered ( 17) — 
in Aros (9) : isolation (14) : dying out (9) — little luck (9) — my father 
(35): without kith or kin (19)— Uncle Gordon (16)— Aros as my 
home (32) : my vacations (29)— so light a heart (25). 

Third paragraph. Six sentences. 

The Ross (23)— rugged isles and reefs (35) : The Mountain of the 
Mist (14)— well named (5): all the clouds (22)— must make them 
(14)— Ben Kyaw (19) : mossy to the top (12) : the rain (21)— wetness 
(14) — wet rocks (27). 

Fourth paragraph. Seven sentences. 

A cattle-track (8) : my journey (12)— rough bowlders (28) : from 
Grisapol to Aros (17) : Houses (8)— from the track (22) : big granite 
rocks (35): sea air (16)— the gulls (ii)— the brightness of the sea 
(17) : the Roost roaring like a battle (45). 


2 45 


Fifth paragraph. Six sentences. 

Aros Jay (36) : a little gut of the sea (35) : clear and still (17) — 
the water itself was green (19) — you could pass dry-shod (31) : good 
pasture (14) — the feed was better (29): The house (12): the vapors 
blowing (27). 


Sixth paragraph. Three sentences. 

Great granite rocks (34) : There they stand (ii) — the salt water 
sobbing (23) — the great sea conger (20) : echoes following (20) — 
caldron boiling (15). 

Seventh paragraph. Nine sentences. 

Rocks (16) : water sown with them (44) — rollers breaking (30) : 
the danger (10) — broken water (26) : in a dead calm (16) — a little 
dancing mutter (39) : heavy weather (42) : roaring (10) : the bubble 
(ii) — big breakers dance (29) : fifty feet (ii) — green water (17) : 
Aros shakes with it (38). 

Eighth paragraph. Three sentences. 

A trap (19) : in Sandag Bay (40) : dangers (38). 

Ninth paragraph. Seven sentences. 

Many a story (38) : sea-kelpie (29) : stricken crazy (44) — original 
Gaelic (16) — sweet singing out of the sea (8) : great disasters (20) : 
a certain saint (19) : some claim (12) — ticklish coast (29) : the House 
of God (29). 


Tenth paragraph. Seven sentences. 

More credulity (17) : one great vessel (56) : some likelihood (7) — 
lay sunk (15) : one particularity (28) — the name (16) : Espirito Santo 
(46) : that tall ship (19) — in the sea-tangle (24) : that voyage (45). 

Eleventh paragraph. Three sentences. 

Reflections (22) : some papers (40) — the Espirito Santo (44) — what 
particular spot (21) : Bay of Sandag (51) — ingots, ounces, and doub- 
loons (42). 


Twelfth paragraph. Six sentences. 

Reason to repent (12) : different reflections (8) — dead men’s treas- 
ures (24) : acquit myself (12) — Mary Ellen (30) : to school (15) — 
poor girl (9) : Aros was no place for her (61) : the Merry Men sing- 
ing and dancing in the Roost! (49). 

The following facts are noteworthy: First, the average 
length of these sentences is sixteen words longer than those of 
Macaulay. Second, the average length of the simple units of 
style is almost the same as the average sentence-length of Ma- 
caulay. Third, these sentences are as easy to read and to 
understand as the shorter sentences. Fourth, the distinctive 
expressiveness of the short sentence is retained in longer sen- 
tences by means of clause-effects. Fifth, the rhetorical clauses 


246 


are attuned to one tone-theme, so that the whole sentence ex- 
presses one coordinate personal effect. Sixth, the rhetorical 
clause expresses the simple unit of style, and the sentence 
freely takes the length and range of the full expressiveness of 
personal power. S£V£jrith, each sentence expresses one per- 
sonal effect, simple or coordinate. 

The tone theme is the primary organic effect of self-expres- 
sion. It has a cognitive phase which is the primary expression 
of thought, an emotional phase which is the primary expres- 
sion of feeling, and a volitional phase which is the primary ex- 
pression of rhythm. 

Each tone theme is the nucleus of a simple unit of style, 
either a simple rhetorical sentence or a rhetorical clause. Suc- 
cessive tone themes that tune together make one coordinate 
sentence; successive sentences follow the thought and develop 
the paragraph. 

The tone themes in the sentences are the same as the phrase 
successions in the paragraphs. Composition begins with the 
movement of personal impulses that develop a thought pro- 
gression, phrase by phrase, until the movement is complete. 

“The Merry Men” was a favorite piece of composition with 
Stevenson. He wrote it with the greatest care, and that it was 
a labor of love appears from the genial theme, a fantasia of 
the sea-coast of Scotland. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE WORD. 


i. The Genesis of Poetry and Prose. — The words of the 
mother tongue are oomfoxtable . influences. The words of 
home, the words of youth, the words of companionship, of 
study, of meditation attend us from the past with the associa- 
tions of their origin. 

The word is the unit of language. It has individuality and 
it is a member of a social order. Its power comes from within 
and from without; the syllabl ejpreathes music through it in 
sublimated melody, and the sentence invests it with style pre- 
cipitating into it personal influences. The syllable gives it life 
, and the sentence gives it personal association s. 

We approach the wordTh rougli the sentence . First litera- 
ture, then the dictionary; first the word in composition, and 
then the word in isolation; and thus through literature and 
composition, with a gathering throng of attendant spirits, we 
come to the word, and find that it has a goodly heritage of 
varied meanings and storied associations. 

In the dictionary the word can have no style except through 
reminiscent associations pX sentences in winch we have known 
it* arid it can have no music ' except in broken m easures. Be- 
fore the dictionary was ’made there waThferSureT^arid before 
literature was written there was life, ancTnTevery word there 
is remotely the sound of a voice. So the dictionary is not 
merely a place of words, but a hall of memory. 

Here is a word that brings to me the brightness of spring 
mornings long ago ; and here is a measure of music breathing 
out of the past ; and here is the fragrance of old flowers. Here 
is the word Honor, and I read, “Written also honour .” Then 
away from the definition my thoughts go wandering, and some- 
where in the long ago I see an old man and hear his reverent 
words, “I have loved the habitation of thy house, and the place 
where thine honour dwelleth.” 1 Then it is all changed, and I 
am thinking of an old document with interesting signatures,, 
and I have a momentary vision of a company of men, and the: 
thought of them moves me like the flag, and I see the words., 
“Our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honour.” 


1 “The Psalms,” 26, 8. 


(247) 


248 


Style and music are here, but they did not come from the 
dictionary. What honour is to me is reminiscent not of the 
isolated word, but of the word in stately composition. The 
style that I feel is the personal influence of some who have ex- 
pressed themselves through it; the sound that I hear is the 
solemn music of the Psalms of David and the deep measures 
of the Declaration of Independence. 

There is mutual attraction between the thought and the 
word. We follow vestiges of creation binding thought and 
word together. A word stirs the memory and awakens long 
forgotten thought, and a thought goes restlessly wandering up 
and down in consciousness seeking the word that is lost. 

Mr. Barrie has given us a fine story of Tommy searching 
his mind for a word: 

“He had brought himself to public scorn for lack of a word. What 
word? they asked testily, but even now he could not tell. He had 
wanted a Scotch word that would signify how many people were in 
church, and it was on the tip of his tongue but would come no farther. 
Puckle was nearly the word, but it did not mean so many people as 
he meant. The hour had gone by just like winking; he had forgotten 
all about time while searching his mind for the word.” 

******* 

“And then an odd thing happened. As they were preparing to 
leave the school, the door opened a little and there appeared in the 
aperture the face of Tommy, tear-stained but excited. ‘ “I ken the 
word now,” * he cried, ‘ “it came to me a’ at once ; it is hantle !” ’ 

“The door closed with a victorious bang, just in time to prevent 
Cathro ■” 

******* 

“But Mr. Ogilvy giving his Lauchlan a push that nearly sent him 
sprawling, said in an ecstasy to himself, * “He had to think of it till 
he got it — and he got it. The laddie is a genius.” ’ “They were about 
to tear up Tommy’s essay, but he snatched it from them and put it 
in his oxter pocket. ‘ “I am a collector of curiosities,” * he explained, 
* “and this paper may be worth money yet.” ’ 

‘“Well,”’ said Cathro, savagely, ‘“I have one satisfaction, I ran 
him out of my school.” ’ 

‘ “Who knows,” ’ replied Ogilvy, ‘ “but what you may be proud to 
dust a chair for him when he comes back.” ’ 2 

Every word should stand forlso mejtfo j pg i the word is a sym- 
v bol* and it purports to represent re ali ty. " Safeguard then the 
real basis of words : do non use wordslightly ; do not use words 
vaguely ; jdp culti^f^irnpressjonism at the cost of exact- 
ness; do not undervalue the reality befilnd words. Literature 
is imitation of life, and life itself is better than the imitation; 
the word is a symbol of truth, and truth itself is better than 
the Symbol. It is the object of literature and of words to ex- 
press personal interpretations of life and truth. 

There are some writers who use words so well that it is 


2 James Matthew Barrie, “Sentimental Tommy,” 1896. 


249 


difficult to study their diction. The rhythm of Macaulay 
charged a generation of readers, who got the step of his march- 
ing column and traveled on in happy self-forgetfulness. There 
are some books that represent life and truth so really that lan- 
guage is both dignified and subordinated. The secret of this 
power is real experience. In answer to a suggestion that he 
write a poem complementary to “In Memoriam,” Tennyson 
said, “I have written what I have felt and known, and I will 
never write anything else.” 

When Milton was a young man he attempted to write a 
poem complementary to the “Hymn on the Nativity,” to be 
called “The Passion.” He wrote eight stanzas, and then 
stopped, with this explanation, which may be read in any vol- 
ume of his poetry, “This Subject the Author finding to be 
above the years he had when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied 
with what was begun, left it unfinished.” 

Behind the lines of “The Paradise Lost” there are wonder- 
ful things: the fallen angels like autumnal leaves upon the 
plain where darkness visible served only to discover sights of 
woe ; the lonely flight of Satan across the vast abyss of Chaos 
to the outside of the world ; the morning prayer in Eden before 
sin had dimmed the beauty of the works of God; the seraph 
Abdiel passing forth, faithful among the faithless ; the sadness 
of the end: 

"‘They hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, 
Through Eden took their solitary way.” 

2. Truth. — Back of the word is Truth. God and the Works 
of God, known to us in Matter and Spirit and their relations, 
and the WjU. ofTjQd. known to us in natural and spiritual 
( laws, — these are Truth. 

Knowledge of truth is derived from the Bible, from nature, 
and from the heart of man. The Bible anT*Nature have a 
common origin and a common ministry; they are in accord and 
their authority is absolute. The heart of man finds various 
expression in .individual experience and in books. The ideal- 
istic influences of good books are voices of freedom teaching 
us what we may become. To such books Wordsworth pays 
this tribute : 

“Yet it is just 

That here, in memory of all books which lay 
Their sure foundation il L jUjl ^ heart oi .man. 

Whether by numerous verse, 

That in the name of all inspired souls — 

From Homer the great Thunderer, from the voice 
That roars along the bed of Jewish song, 

And that more varied and elaborate, 

Those trumpet-tones of harmony that shake 
Our shores in England, 

* * * * * * * 


I 


250 


’Tis just that in behalf of these, the works, 

/ And of the men that framed them, whether known, 

Or sleeping nameless in their scattered graves, 

That I should here assert their rights, attest 
Their honours, and should, once for all, pronounce 
Their benediction; speak of them as Powers 
For ever to be hallowed ; only less, 

For >yhat; we are and what we may become, 

Than Nature’s self, which is the breath of God, 

Or His pure Word by miracle revealed.” * * * 8 >- 


It is the high purpose of education to lead us to the knowl- 
edge of truth. That alone is liberal education that gives us 
freedom, and leaves the heart in accord with nature, and the 
Bible, and in harmony with God. 

The remarkable analogies between natural and spiritual 
laws , 4 the mingling and merging of natural and spiritual needs, 
require that the book of God’s Works and the book of God’s 
Word should be interpreted in a complemental and interde- 
pendent relation. Concerning these sources of knowledge Lord 
Bacon writes as follows: 

“It is an assured truth and a crmckisiorio f ^xp^r it^c e. that a little or 
superficial knowledge of philosophy may incUnetnemind of man to 
atheism, but a farther proceeding therein doth bring the mind back 
again to religion. For in the entrance of philosophy, when the second 
causes, which are next unto the senses, do offer themselves to the 
mind of man, if it dwell and stay there it may induce some oblivion of 
the Highest Cause; but when a man passeth on farther, and seeth the 
dependence of causes and the works of providence, then, according 
to the allegory of the poets, he will easily believe that the highest link 
of nature’s chain must needs be tied to the foot of Jupiter’s chair. To 
conclude therefore : Let no man, upon a weak conceit of sobriety or an 
ill-applied moderation, think or maintain that a man can search too 
far or be too well studied in the book of God’s Word, or in the book 
of God’s Works — Divinity or Philosophy; — but rather let men en- 
deavor an endless progress or proficience in both. Only let men be- 
ware that they apply both to charity, and not to swelling; to use, and 
not to ostentation; and again, that they do not unwisely mingle or 
confound these learnings together.” B 

Herbert Spencer has said, 

“The idea of cause will govern at the end as it has at the beginning. 
The idea of cause cannot be abolished except by the abolition of 
thought itself.” 8 

In the realm of matter and of spirit, experience leads to the 
sublime reflections of Richard Hooker: 

./ “jQJLLa* there can be no less acknowledged, than that her seat is 
the bosom of God, her voice the harmony of the world; all things in 


8 “The Prelude,” 5, 197-222. 

4 Henry Drummond (1851-1897), “Natural Law in the Spiritual 

World.” 

8 “Advancement of Learning,” I. 

•“Reasons for Dissenting from the Philosophy of M. Comte.” 


251 


heaven and earth do her homage, the very least as feeling her care, 
and the greatest as not exempted from her power; both Angels and 
men and creatures of what condition soever, though each in different 
sort and manner, yet all with uniform consent, admiring her as the 
mother of their peace and joy.” 7 

Studies of natural and spiritual forces give us visions of the 
far horizons of truth. 

The last paragraph in Darwin’s “Origin of Species” is a re- 
markable survey of natural forces : 

“It is interesting to contemplate a tangled bank, clothed with many 
plants of many kinds, with birds singing on the bushes, with various 
insects flitting about, and with worms crawling through the damp 
earth, and to reflect that these elaborately constructed forms, so differ- 
ent from each other, and dependent upon each other in so complex 
a manner, have all been produced by laws acting around us. These 
laws, taken in the largest sense, being Growth with reproduction; 
.Inheritance which is almost implied by reproduction; Variability from 
the indirect and direct action of the conditions of life, and from use 
and disuse; a Ratio of Increas e so high as to lead to a Struggle for 
Life, and as a consequence to ' HatTral Selectidb . entailing Divergence ‘ 
of Character and the Extinctionot less Improved forms. Thus, from 
the war of mature, from famine and death, the most exalted object 
which we are capable of conceiving, namely the production of the 
higher animals, directly follows. There is grandeur in this view of 
life, with its several powers, having been originally breathed by the 
Creator into a few forms or into one; and that, while this planet has 
gone circling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple 
a beginning endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have 
been, and are being evolved.” 8 9 

In the first book of Hooker’s “Ecclesiastical Polity” is a 
memorable survey of spiritual forces : 

“Concerning faith, the principal object whereof is that eternal verity 
which hath discovered the treasures of hidden wisdom in Christ; con- 
cerning hope, the highest object whereof is that everlasting goodness 
which in Christ doth quicken the dead; concerning charity, the final 
object whereof is that incomprehensible beauty which shineth in the 
countenance of Christ the Son of the living God; concerning these 
virtues, the first of which beginning here with a weak apprehension of 
things not seen, endeth with the intuitive vision of God in the world to 
come ; the second beginning here with a trembling expectation of things 
far removed and as yet but only heard of, endeth with real and actual 
fruition of that which no tongue can express ; the third beginning here 
with a weak inclination of heart towards him unto whom we are not 
able to approach, endeth with endless union, the mystery whereof is 
higher than the reach of the thoughts of men; concerning that faith, 
hope, and charity, without which there can be no salvation, was. there 
ever any mention made saving only in that law which God himself 
hath from heaven revealed? There is not in the world a syllable 
muttered with certain truth concerning any of these three, more than 
hath been supernaturally received from the jmouth of the eternal 


7 Richard Hooker (1554-1600), “Ecclesiastical Polity,” I, 16, 8. 

8 Charles Robert Darwin (1809-1882), “Origin of Species, ch. XV. 

9 “Ecclesiastical Polity,” I, 11, 6. 


252 


Matter cannot be authority for Spirit. Emerson quotes cer- 
tain materialists who say, “Spirit is matter reduced to an ex- 
treme thinness : O so thin ! — But,” he declares, “the definition 
of spiritual should be, that which is its own evidence .” 10 Spirit 
informs matter, giving it dignity and meaning. This is the 
Meaning of Things which men have widely sought to know : 

“The invisible things of him from the creation of the world are 
clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his 
eternal power and Godhead.” * 11 

Stevenson wrote as follows of a Plymouth Brother whom 
he met in his wanderings in the Cevennes : 

“One who has grown a long while in the sweat of laborious noons, 
and under the stars at night, a frequenter of hills and forests, an old 
honest countryman, has, in the end, a sense of communion with the 
powers of the universe, and amicable relations towards his God. Like 
my mountain Plymouth Brother, he knows the Lord.” 13 

■ It is the function of words to express thgsgjcgalities, and in 
order that the visions" and conceptions that come and go in 
consciousness shall find expression in words it is necessary 
that language be developed to its full expressiveness and cher-. 
ished as we would a right of way to a heavenly country. 

The grammarian, who long ago wrought silently among the 
elements of thought and expression and crystallized the crea- 
tions of consciousness into forms of language, is “still loftier 
than the world suspects.” We should think of him as Brown- 
ing thinks of him : 

“Let us begin and carry up this corpse, 

Singing together. 

Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes 
Each in its tether 

Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain, 

Cared-for till cock-crow: 

Look out if yonder be not day again 
Rimming the rock-row ! 

That’s the appropriate country; there, man’s thought, 

Rarer, intenser, 

Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought, 

Chafes in the censer. 

Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop; 

Seek we sepulture 

On a tall mountain, citied to the top, 

Crowded with culture! 

All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels ; 

Clouds overcome it; 


“Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), Essay on “Experience.” 

11 Romans I, 20. 

““Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes;” “In the Valley of the 
Mimente.” 


253 


No! yonder sparkle is the citadel's 
Circling its summit. 

Thither our path lies ; wind we up the heights ; 

Wait ye the warning? 

Our low life was the levels and the night’s ; 

He’s for the morning. 

Step to a tune, square chests, erect each head, 

’Ware the beholders ! 

This is our master, famous, calm and dead, 

Borne on our shoulders.” 13 

3. Primary Word-Groups. — Words express either things or 
relations, and therefore words have been classified as Jyg&e&t- 
ive if they represent things, and symbolic if they represent 
relations. \ 

“The Presentive are those which present an object to the 
memory or to the imagination; or, in brief, whicli prlfent any 
conception, jo the m ind. * * * The, Symbolic words are j 

those which by themseTves present no meaning to any mind, j 
and which depend for their intelligibility on a relation to some 
presentive word or words.” 14 This division cannot be ad- 
justed completely to the parts of speech, but it is in general 
1 true that some verbs and adverbs are presentive and some 
symbolic; that nouns and adjectives are presentive; that pro- 
nouns, articles, prepositions, and conjunctions are symbolic. 

In the Old Testament narrative of the healing of Naaman 
the leper 15 there are 509 words, 153 of which are presentives. 
The presentive words constitute 30 per cent. 

In the narrative passage of the parable of the Prodigal Son 16 
there are 507 words, 171 of which are presentives. The pre- 
sentive words constitute 33.7 per cent. 

In the first chapter in “The Merry Men,” 17 a passage in nar- 
ration, there are 2,539 words, 959 of which are presentives. 
The presentive words constitute 37.8 per cent. 

A passage in description, from Ruskin, 18 on Saint Mark’s 
cathedral, in Venice, has 2,777 words, 1,263 of which are pre- 
sentives. The presentive words constitute 45.5 per cent. 

The following descriptive poem by John Masefield shows a 
very large number of presentive words. There are 87 words, 
and 56 of these are presentives. The presentives constitute* 
64.4 per cent: 


13 Robert Browning, “A Grammarian’s Funeral.” 

14 John Earle, “The Philology of the English Tongue,” Ch. 5. 
“2 Kings 5, 1-14. 

16 Luke 15, 11-32. 

17 Robert Louis Stevenson. 

““Stones of Venice,” Vol. 2. 


254 


“Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir 
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, 

With a cargo of ivory, 

And apes and peacocks, 

Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.” 

“Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus, 

Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores, 

With a cargo of diamonds, 

Emeralds, amethysts, 

Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.” 

“Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack, 

Butting through the Channel in the mad March days, ' 

With a cargo of Tyne coal, 

Road-rails, pig-lead, 

Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.” 19 

A passage of 500 words in exposition from Matthew Ar- 
nold’s essay, “The Study of Poetry/’ 20 has 197 presentive 
words. The presentives constitute 39.4 per cent. 

A passage of 500 words in exposition, from Pater’s essay, 
“The School of Giorgione,” 21 has 204 presentive words. The 
presentives constitute 40.8 per cent. 

A passage of 500 words in exposition, from Stevenson’s 
essay “Aes Triplex,” 22 has 218 presentive words. The pre- 
sentives constitute 43.6 per cent. 

The following paragraph of 100 words in argumentation 
has 36 presentive words. It is from a sermon the structural 
basis of which is substantive exposition. The presentives con- 
stitute 36 per cent: 

“Akin to a love of truth as truth, is truthfulness toward one’s self. 
A reverent love for truth exacts also a rigorous honesty in dealing 
with one’s self. A thoroughgoing honesty of both purpose and act 
in the discipline of self is an ingredient without which no character 
can be either praiseworthy or complete. To the supply of this in- 
gredient true science is necessarily tributary. No man can habituate 
himself to the study of the invariable order of sequences in nature 
and not feel that, above all things else, he must not deceive himself 
nor allow himself to be deceived.” 23 

The average of presentive words in these passages is 41.9 
per cent. The lowest per cent of presentives is 30 in narra- 
tion ; the highest is 64.4 in description. As a rule, the per- 
centage of presentive words in exposition is somewhat close 


19 “Cargoes,” “Oxford Book of Victorian Verse.” 

20 Matthew Arnold (1822-1888), “The Study of Poetry,” 1880. 

21 Walter Horatio Pater (1839-1894), “The School of Giorgione,” 

1877. 

22 “Aes Triplex,” 1881. 

23 Ezekiel Gilman Robinson (1815-1894), “Baccalaureate Sermons,” 
New York, Silver, 1896. 


255 


to the mean of 40 per cent. The interest of narration cent ers 
in relatio ns. and this interest involves a relatively 

large number of symbolic words. The simpler and stronger 
the narrative the greater will be the number of verbs and of 
particles of transition and connection. This results in a rela- 
tively small percentage of presentives and a relatively large 
percentage of symbolic words. The interest of description, on 
the other hand, involved the opposite conditions. Desc ription 
fills the mind with objects, and these are expressed by present- 
ijye_.w©£ds. 

It is important that these facts with respect to presentive 
and symbolic words should be very clearly appreciated. They 
should be tested by studies in different kinds of composition, 
and they should be experimented with in theme-writing until 
the distinction between presentive words and symbolic words v 
is deeply felt and the power of expressiveness in the changing 
ratio of presentive and symbolic words is thoroughly mas- 
tered. 

The first vocabulary of the child is a presentive vocabulary. 
He has a perception of substance and his earliest speech is a 
word succession of objects relatively disggpjjgcted. The ap- 
pearance of symbolic words shows the “Beginning of the, con- 
scious activities of reason. Symbolic words are the words of 
relationship. When the thinking mind begins the constructive 
processes of reason, by which we advance in knowledge from 
substance to substance by means of conceived relationships, 
we express all these relationships with symbolic words. 

The symbolic vocabulary grows as the reasoning faculty 
develops. The child uses few symbolic words; the first com- 
positions are structurally weak. There are presentive words 
in simple sentences, or rambling compound sentences, or loose 
structures of a complex character caught together with an 
and. There is little real thought construction, and the effect 
is vague and fragmentary. The first sign of real mental proc- 
esses is the appearance of a rational symbolic vocabulary. 
The mastery of the symbolic vocabulary, notably in particles 
of transition and connection, is a mark of culture and of the 
appreciation also of fine intellectual distinctions and shades of 
meaning. 

The coordinating conjunction <mj|Js used with sweetness by 
T eremv Taylo r in a kind of rhytnfmc iteration that is charac- 
ter isTic of Bis style. He was a preacher of consolation and 
the structure of his thought is cumulative. Word is added to 
word, phrase to phrase, clause to clause in a succession of co- 
ordinating effects, all linked with and. In the first volume of 
“Holy Dying” and is used 2,509 times ; this is 5.6 per cent of 
all the words. 


256 


The adversative conjunction but is used with strong expres- 
siveness by John . Bunyan. ‘*Grace Abounding to the Chief 
of Sinners” is his spiritual autobiography during that period 
of conflict centering in his conversion and call to the Gospel 
ministry. The thought is full of adversative relations. The 
opposing forces in consciousness are the soul and a spirit that 
denies. In the dramatic monologue statement and counter- 
statement follow in a succession of adversative propositions, 
and down through the center the deep perspective shows the 
battle line. The adversative but stands along the edge of bat- 
tle like a grim line of Cromwell’s Ironsides. 

Primitive language, like the language of childhood, is almost 
devoid of symbolic words. With the development of intel- 
lectual life and the progress of culture the living organism of 
language grows and adapts itself to the increasing demands of 
expression. The Greek language is wonderful in the range 
and expressiveness of its symbolic vocabulary. The English 
language is also remarkable for the full and fine expressiveness 
of its symbolic words. 

The wonders of the mind are nowhere more apparent than 
in adequate use of the symbolic words that express meta- 
physical relations. In the world of reason the symbolic words 
express the unseen forces that envelop and relate the objects 
of our thinking. The forces of symbolic words range ^among 
the presentive words like the winds that blow between the 
worlds, like the airs that breathe between the atoms, like the 
ethereal atmospheres that sustain the mind. The reason chal- 
lenges the imagination to surpass the actual expressiveness of 
symbolic words. 

The following figures resulting from studies of the primary 
word-groups in different writers can doubtless be shown to 
have, in each instance, a real and distinctive relation to the 
style of the writer: Edmund Burke, presentive 43, symbolic 
57 per cent; De Quincey, presentive 42, symbolic 58; Ma- 
caulay, presentive 45, symbolic 55 ; Carlyle, presentive 43, 
symbolic 57 ; Stevenson, presentive 3 7 symbolic 63 per cent. 

It is apparent that in standard English composition the aver- 
age ratio of presentive to symbolic words is a ratio of 4 to 6, 
presentive words 40 per cent, symbolic words 60 per cent. 

4. Good Use. — Good Use in language is based in two prin- 
ciples,’ a principle of gramma r and a principle of n id iom. 
Grammar produces regularit y: idiom develops irregularity. 
These two forces in language are like the two parts of a defi- 
nition, the genus stating the class, and the differentia stating 
the species. Grammar shows the genus in the structure com- 
mon to all language, and idiom shows the differentia in the 
structure peculiar to the particular language. 


257 


There is something like the law of evolution in the develop- 
ment of language. Primitive language shows universal im- 
pulses in a structure characterized by “an indefinite, inco- 
herent homogeneity,” and all the phenomena of primitive lan- 
guage are explainable by the principles of grammar. The 
language of civilization, expressing a more highly developed 
intellectual life, shows individual peculiarities in a structure 
characterized by “a definite, coherent heterogeneity,” and the 
phenomena are explainable by the harmonizing principles of 
grammar and the differentiating principles of idiom. 

Grammar. Language as mechanism is philology, as organ- 
ism is grammar. It is rhetorical quality that makes language 
Organic, therefore grammar is entirely within the field of 
rhetoric. Grammar is a harmonizing faculty between the 
thought and the word'; rhetoric is a harmonizing faculty be- 
tween the thought, the word, the occasion, the Self, the Other- 
Self. In the organized circle of the five factors of rhetorical 
composition, grammar involves the relations of two of these 
factors, the thought and the word, expressed in terms of the 
word. Grammar gives to words their forms, their sequences 
and their functions. 

The organic forces in composition develop different func- 
tions in words, and these functions are named and classified 
as parts of speech. 

There are eight parts of speech as follows: three parts of 
speech with essential functions, the Noun, the Pronoun, the 
Verb; two parts of speech with qualifying functions, the Ad- 
jective, the Adverb; two parts of speech with connective func- 
tionsTThe Preposition, the Conjunction ; one part of speech 
with an absolute, emotional function, tjagjjatex paction . 

Function determines the parts of speech. It is important to 
understand this thoroughly. A word is a medium; it has a 
subordinate office ; it is a servant anTiHfoes the work assigned 
to it and is classified according to the work that it does. . A 
word may be at one time a noun, at another time an adjective, 
at another time a verb ; its dignity and its designation are de- 
rived from its function. 

A word that names something is a Noun ; a word that stands 
for a noun is a Pronoun; a word that asserts something is a 
Verb; a word that limits a noun or pronoun is an Adjective; 
a word that limits a verb, adjective, or adverb is an Adverb; 
a word that relates a noun or pronoun to something is a Prep- 
osition ; a word that connects sentences or parts of sentences 
is a Conjunction; a word that exclaims is an Interjection. 

Idiom. Idiom is at variance with grammar. The word 
idiom means peculiarity. The intrusion of idiom is marked 


258 

by peculiarities of form, and these peculiarities characterize 
one language, one people, or one person. 

English idioms are the strong distinctive marks in the Eng- 
lish language of a highly individualized race. Those that are 
native born learn English idiom naturally, for English idioms 
express characteristic English tendencies in speech. Aliens 
learn idioms last and with difficulty because English idioms 
say things in an English way. Home influences strengthen 
idiom; foreign influences strengthen grammar. This is illus- 
trated in the history of the English language by the leveling 
influence of Latin grammar on English idiom. Culture tends 
to reduce idioms by emphasizing the universal influences in 
all languages. The distinctive personal strength of the Eng- 
lish is expressed in the English idioms. Study and guard 
these idioms; there are characteristic idioms in all types of 
composition ; these should all be studied, their forms and their 
effectiveness noted, their use practiced until this element of 
power is thoroughly mastered. See to it that elaboration and 
revision do not lead to the loss of idiomatic English quality. 

In the Memoir of Lord Tennyson his son writes, — 

“If he differentiated his style from that of any other poet, he would 
remark on his use of English in preference to words derived from 
French or Latin. He revived many fine old words which had fallen 
into disuse; and I heard him regret that he had never employed the 

word ‘yarely.’ ” 

This preference for native English words is seen in his 
poetry. 

In the lyric “Break, Break, Break” there are no words; 
104 of these are native English words, and 99 are monosyl- 
lables. 

In the lyric “Sweet and Low” there are 99 words; 98 of 
these are native English words, and 82 are monosyllables. 

In the Bugle Song from “The Princess” there are 128 
words ; 109 are native English, and 82 are monosyllables. 

In “Crossing the Bar” there are 102 words; 88 of these are 
native English, and 88 are monosyllables. 

The epic poems show the same characteristics. In a pas- 
sage of 493 words from the “Holy Grail” 465 are native Eng- 
lish, and 381 are monosyllables. 

The average of native English words in these passages is 
92.7 per cent. The average of monosyllables is 78.5 per cent. 


259 


WORD-ANALYSIS IN ENGLISH PROSE. 


Percentages of Native English Derivatives, of Mono syllables , Dis- 
syllables, Trisyllables and, over. 


Author. 

Ascham 

Lyly 

Hooker 

Sidney 

Bacon 

Browne 

Milton 

Taylor 

Bunyan 

Cowley 

Dryden 

Swift 

Addison , 

Steele 

Johnson 

Burke 

Macaulay 

Carlyle 

De Quincey 

Stevenson . . . , 


Native 

English. 

Mono- 

syllables. 

Dissyllables. 

Trisyllables 

85 

74.1 

18.7 

7.2 

84 

68.5 

24 

7-5 

82 

66.2 

25 

8.8 

8l 

70.4 

19.6 

10 

76.2 

62.6 

25.9 

11 . 5 

81.3 

7 i 

19.8 

9.2 

8l 

64.4 

24-3 

11 . 3 

83.7 

70.5 

21.7 

7.8 

87.6 

79.6 

16.4 

4 

84.8 

67.4 

23.7 

8.9 

83.5 

68.5 

20.5 

11 

80.8 

66.6 

24.1 

9-3 

88.4 

68.1 

22 

9.9 

86 

69.7 

19.6 

10.7 

78.8 

63.6 

21.4 

13 

77-6 

63.8 

21.2 

15 

80.3 

60.5 

26.7 

12.8 

83.9 

68 

21.4 

10.6 

82.5 

68.2 

18 

13-8 

94-3 

76 

19.7 

4.3 


There is a law of present use that comes from 
the function of language as a medium of expression. If we 
are to be understood we must use words as they are used now 
with present meanings and present associations. 

The law of present use is stated by Pope : 

“In words as fashions, the same rule will hold, 

Alike fantastic, if too new or old : 

Be not the first by whom the new are try’d, 

Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.” “ 

In the structural words of the English language there is 
little change. Words . of action and of feeling are most of 
them native words that do not change. But English is a living 
language and growth means change. New facts and new 
processes bring new words, and changing interest and custom 
leave many words in disuse. The language of yesterday is 
not the present use of to-day. This points the difference be- 
tween a living and a dead language. 

Present use is concerned not merely with the confines of 
language questioning the propriety of words, too . new or old, 
but with the words that carry the burden of expression. The 
child who wants to tell you something talks breathlessly with 
shining face having no shadow of difficulty with his mother- 


24 Alexander Pope (1688-1744), “An Essay on Criticism,” 333*336. 


26 o 


tongue. He simply moves happily with the current of his 
mental life; he thinks in it, dreams in it, talks in it, without 
being conscious of the words at all. This is present use. The 
wide and varied use of the mother-tongue which experience 
and the development of mental life bring, make us familiar 
with the great body of words in present use. When we break 
the law of present use a troublesome word-consciousness de- 
velops. Mental growth to be sure keeps us on the frontiers 
among the forms of new things, but a conservative attitude 
towards new forms of knowledge will usually familiarize us 
with the proper words before we venture to use them. Clear 
thinking will safeguard our vocabularies. When we think 
clearly and strongly we speak right on. The reason is that 
thinking is generally a formulation in words, and the process 
of writing or speaking is merely a projection of the words un- 
expressed into the words expressed. It is probably possible 
to think without words, but we know that usually in conscious- 
ness thinking develops a stream line of unspoken words. 
These unspoken words in consciousness are words of present 
use. 

Present use is the common speech of common life. This 
speech is made up of words that we all know, used in ways 
that we all know. It is the language of a common interest in 
common things, and this is the secret of the power of present 
use. This is living language. 

The trend of use in English vocabularies is strongly towards 
native words. This movement is due to the English classics 
embodying the forces and the culture of Christian civiliza- 
tion, and to the expansive power of the vast store of knowl- 
edge gathered in our own time. The strength and fineness of 
present use are not found among the isolated, or the exclusive, 
or the select ; the spirit of present use does not actuate either 
the ultra-refined or the very vulgar. The strength and fine- 
ness of the mother-tongue appear in the speech of the people. 

_ National Use. There is a law of national use that restricts 
us to those words that are in good use throughout the land. 
The language is a conventional means "of ^ exf^essibn arid we 
can not center our strength in the Nation unless we cherish 
and cultivate a pure national speech. Language to be serv- 
iceable must be understood by all who use it. A word that 
is not in good current use throughout the land is inefficient. 
Misunderstanding and perplexity and vagueness follow in the 
track of such a word. 

The range of English speech is from the locality of a single 
community to the world of English-speaking peoples. Style 


26 i 


is racial and national and local and individual. The source 
of all English quality is the individual. English quality is 
individualistic. English idiom emphasizes this. But indi- 
vidual style can not be efficiently expressed except by a na- 
tional speech shorn of all individual mannerisms, of atriocal 
provincialisms, of all sectional peculiarities. We cherish the 
common stock of the ancient language. It is our mother- 
tongue. It is the wholesome reminder of our origin, of our 
fellowship, of our mission. We mus t keep our language pure 
for national use. 

Beware of localisms, of provincial woras ana pnrases and 
constructions; beware of technical words; beware of foreign 
words and do not use them unless they are so necessary and 
clear that they have axiomatic appropriateness; beware of 
words and pronunciations and constructions that are British, 
because there is an American standard — the projection of 
American life and character. Our speech kept pure for the 
use of the whole people will be the adaptable medium for self- 
expression. Every person has style of his own; every part 
of the country has characteristic temperament, intellectual and 
moral fibre and tone. In order that each may express himself 
for all we should keep the law of national use. 

We have followed too much a theory of imitation. We 
preserve and safeguard the national speech in order to give 
currency to individual and local quality. We no longer ad- 
vise to give days and nights to the volumes of Addison or any- 
body else, in order to write like Addison or anybody else. 
We wish to be ourselves and to express ourselves. The object 
in all literature is self-expression. Style is individual and 
local ; it is not general, but specific ; it is the characteristic ex- 
pression of the Self sometime, somewhere. Say what you 
have to say in your own way, and it will be invested with the 
strength of your individuality. So the glory of the Republic 
will be the characteristic strength of every part and every 
citizen. 

Cultivate your own heritage. Cast away your mannerisms 
and discard your provincialisms, but cherish as a trust your 
own style and express it in our common language for the com- 
mon good. 

Reputable Use . Use that is scholarly, refined, and whole- 
some is reputable use. “Proper words in proper places” was 
Swift’s definition of style. This recognizes both the word and 
its place, and this is important to note, for the word in the 
dictionary is not the word in “use.” The influences of words 
in reputable use are the influences of words in composition. 


262 


The beauty of a word rightly used in composition is described 
in one of the proverbs of Solomon: 

“A word fitly spoken 

Is like apples of gold in network of silver.” 35 

In an essay on the Novel, Maupassant, the French novelist, 
says: 

“Whatever the thing we wish to say, there is but one word to ex- 
press it, but one verb to give it life. We must seek till we find this 
noun, this verb and this adjective, and never be content with approxi- 
mations, never have recourse to tricks, even happy ones, or to sleights 
of language to avoid a difficulty. The subtlest things may be rendered 
and suggested by applying the hint conveyed in Boileau’s line: ‘He 
taught the power of a word put in the right place/ ” 26 

Reputable use is the use of the writers of best repute. 
There are masters of language whose style is a refining influ- 
ence. We read their books and become accustomed to their 
use of words ; we admire them and unconsciously accept their 
use of English and their canons of style. They standardize 
our literary taste and our use of English also, and so confirm 
us in habits of reputable use. 

Robert Louis Stevenson tells of his early efforts to acquire 
a style by imitating the best writers. He failed in what he 
sought, because style is personal and therefore can not be ac- 
quired by playing the “sedulous ape” to anybody. But he de- 
\/ dares that this practice of imitation was not fruitless because 
it acquainted him with standards of achievement and made 
him familiar with the usage and the literary quality of the best 
writers. These boyish studies he describes as follows : 

“Whenever I read a book or a passage that particularly pleased me, 
in which a thing was said or an effect rendered with propriety, in 
which there was either some conspicuous force or some happy distinc- 
tion in the style, I must sit down at once and ape that quality. I was 
unsuccessful, and I knew it; and tried again, and was again unsuccess- 
ful and always unsuccessful; but at least in these vain bouts, I got 
some practice in rhythm, in harmony, in construction and the coordina- 
tion of parts. I have thus played the sedulous ape to Hazlitt, to Lamb, 
to Wordsworth, to Sir Thomas Browne, to Defoe, to Hawthorne, to 
Montaigne, to Baudelaire, and to Obermann.” 27 

Language is a conventional medium of expression. There 
is no other way to know actually what good use is except by 
personal acquaintance with the best usage of writers and 
speakers. We must read the best books and associate with the 


35 Proverbs 25, 11. 

36 Henri Rene Albert Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893), Le Roman, 
prefixed to “Pierre et Jean,” p. 33. 

37 “A College Magazine.” 


263 


best people. We shall be known by the company we keep and 
be known to use English well. 

The law of ^reputable use restricts us to words that are 
grammatical, to words that are of good reputation. We learn 
' grammatical English by imitation.' Those persons who are so 
fortunate as to grow up in the midst of good English fix 
habits of good use ; those on the other hand who through the 
period of childhood and youth hear the language spoken care- 
lessly and ungrammatically have like habits of speech and in 
moments of self-forgetful earnestness they relapse into the 
careless and ungrammatical speech of their former associa- 
tions. Such habits are eradicated only with difficulty. 

Avoid imp ropriet y which is the misuse of a word in the 
language; and barbarism which is the use of a word not in 
the language; and solecism which is a construction that does 

Y <-> 7 ***&&(#»#* 

not make sense. 

Many words are disqualified by their associations. Slang 
is so light that it is hopelessly below the tone of serious com- 
position. Words of the camp do not sound well in the draw- 
ing-room. Words of meditation are weak in action. The 
colloquial vocabulary does not readily mix with the literary 
vocabulary. Good taste and a knowledge of the vital charac- 
ter of language will help us keep this law. 

5. The English Language. — The growth of the English 
language during the nineteenth century, compared with other 
languages, is shown in the following table : 28 


1801. 1901. 

French 31,450,000 52,100,000 

German 30,320,000 84,200,000 

Italian 15,070,000 34,000,000 

Spanish 26,190,000 46,500,000 

Portuguese 7,480,000 15,000,000 

Russian 30,770,000 85,000,000 

English 20,520,000 130,300,000 


Under the British flag and under the American flag English 
is the mother-tongue. England at Suez and America at Pan- 
ama hold the gates of the seas. The Normans once made the 
Mediterranean a Norman lake and their own speech the lan- 
guage of international relations. In our own day the men of 
the English language have made the oceans English, and have 
made their native tongue the language of commerce and diplo- 
macy around the world. 

The schools and colleges of the Orient are teaching English. 
At the end of the first decade of the American occupation of 


88 World Almanac, 1912. 


264 


the Philippines more people were speaking English in the 
Islands than were speaking Spanish there at the close of the 
War with Spain. With her immigrant classes America is re- 
versing Babel. The peoples of fifty languages, a million a 
year, are learning about liberty in the English language. 

In the Speech on Conciliation Edmund Burke urged the 
common bonds of language, political ideals, and religion. The 
civilization based in these elements was not retarded by the 
American Revolution. The common bonds have strengthened 
through the years. There is no weakening of that dominion 
that is the expression of the civilization centering in the Eng- 
lish Language, Saxon Freedom, and the Christian Faith. 


CHAPTER XII, 






THE SYLLABLE. 


i. The Musician’s Realm. — Sound-quality centers in the 
syllable. This is the musician’s realm — the last of the elements 
*\yffgffE e pervasive melody comes and the singing spirit of all 
rhetoric. 

The composition, the paragraph, the sentence, the word, — 
all have proper functions and distinctive problems. The com- 
position is the element of the literary strategist where it is 
determined how the Other-Self shall be addressed, whether 
in poetry or prose, whether in narration and description, or 
in exposition and argumentation. The paragraph is the ele- 
ment of the logician, where the thought sequences are con- 
trolled and elaborated; the paragraph is .the unit of the plan. 
The sentence is the element of style, and through it range the 
personal forces that are essential to rhetorical quality; it is 
also the element of the grammarian, where the laws of lan- 
guage and of usage dictate conventional correctness. The 
word is the element of the seer, and the poet, and the philoso- 
pher; it is the unit of language. The syllable is the element 
Y of the musician, the. single note of a melodic, spiritual influence 
sweeping through the other elements, rising into interpretative 
and illustrative harmonies. 

Helmholtz says, “Every motion is an expression of the power 
which produces it, and we instinctively measure the motive 
force by the amount of motion which it produces. This holds 
equally and perhaps more for the motions due to the exertion 
of power by the human will and human impulses than for 
the mechanical motions of external nature. In this way 
melodic progression can become the expression of the most 
diverse conditions of human disposition, not precisely of human 
feelings, but at least of that state of sensitiveness which is 
produced by feelings .” 1 To keep time to music is natural. 
The self-control of reason exercises a restraining influence on 
an inherent imitative tendency. It has been said, “Music most 
always starts by making us feel ‘queer inside.’ ” 2 The writer 
attunes the syllables to the thought and sublimates that thought, 

1 H. L. F. Helmholtz (1821-1894), “Sensations of Tone,” p. 250. 

8 Mason, “The Enjoyment of Music,” The Outlook, Nov. 20, 1909. 

(265) 


f 


266 


as Wagner says, “to its quintessence of emotional content to 
which alone music can give a voice .” 2 Rhythm and melodies 
and harmonies composed of sounds awaken corresponding 
progressions of emotion and thought, and conversely also the 
thoughts and emotions tend to awaken corresponding musical 
progressions. Helmholtz describes the sensitive correspond- 
ence between musical tones and mental states as follows : “Our 
thoughts may move fast or slowly, may wander about restlessly 
and aimlessly in anxious excitement, or may keep a determinate 
aim distinctly and energetically in view ; they may lounge about 
without care or effort in pleasant fancies, or, driven back by 
some sad memories, may return slowly and heavily from the 
spot with short, weak steps. All this may be imitated and 
expressed by the melodic motion of the tones, and the listener 
may thus receive a more perfect and impressive image of the 
‘tune' of another person’s mind than by any other means, ex- 
cept perhaps by a very perfect dramatic representation of the 
way in which such a person really spoke and acted.” 3 

The Memoir of Tennyson tells of an English traveler in 
Japan visiting a remote village and meeting an aged Japanese 
poet who brought to him a volume containing selections from 
“In Memoriam,” asking the traveler to read to him from the 
“Poet of England.” He listened to the reading and said that, 
though he did not know the words, “the music spoke to him, 
and he knew he felt as the poet felt when he wrote the poems, 
for the music talked in a tongue that could not be mistaken, 
and he knew the poems were very beautiful .” 4 

Control of sound quality in composition is not inherently 
difficult, for sense and so und are naturally accordant. But 
there is need~oFa discipTme^of care and good taste to save, 
on the one hand, from that neglect which sinks into mejjpgrfty, 
and, on the other hand, from that indulgence in mere sound 
which develops sentimentally. Pope 5 wrote contemptuously 
of “tuneful foolsT* 

“Who haunt Parnassus but to please their ear, 

Not mend their minds ; as some to church repair, 

Not for the doctrine, but the music there. 

These equal syllables alone require, 

Tho’ oft the ear the open vowels tire; 

While expletives their feeble aid do join; 

And ten low words oft creep in one dull line ; 

While they ring round the same unvaried chimes, 

With sure returns of still expected rhymes; 

Where’er you find ‘the cooling western breeze,’ 

• “Sensations of Tone,” p. 250. 

4 “Alfred Lord Tennyson : A Memoir,” vol. II, p. 405. 

8 Alexander Pope (1688-1744), “An Essay on Criticism” 


267 

In the next line, it ‘whispers through the trees 
If crystal streams ‘with pleasing murmurs creep/ 

The reader’s threatened (not in vain) with ‘sleep/ 

Then, at the last and only couplet fraught 
With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, 

A needless Alexandrine ends the song, 

That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.” 

Then the great Augustan poet turned from satire on the 
foolishness of men to the serene atmosphere of his art: 

“True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, 

As those move easiest who have learned to dance. 

’Tis not enough no harshness gives offence, 

The sound must seem an Echo to the sense: 

Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, 

And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; 

But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 

The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar: 

When Ajax strives some rock’s vast weight to throw. 

The line, too, labours, and the words move slow; 

Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, 

Flies o’er th’ unbending corn, and skims along the main. 

Hear how Timotheus’ varied lays surprise, 

And bid alternate passions fall and rise! 

While, at each change, the son of Libyan Jove 
Now burns with glory, and then melts with love; 

Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow, 

Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow ! 

Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found, 

And the world’s victor stood subdued by Sound. 

The power of Music all our hearts allow, 

And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now.” 

The student of rhetoric will do well to study Pope, for 
he was a master of his craft. The tribute of Austin Dobson 
is one that the poet and the art deserve : 

“So I, that love the old Augustan Days 
Of formal Courtesies and formal Phrase, 

That like along the finish’d Line to feel 
The Ruffle’s flutter and the Flash of Steel; 

That like my Couplet as Compact as Clear; 

That like my Satire sparkling tho’ severe, 

Unmixed with Bathos, and unmarr’d by Trope, 

I fling my Cap for Polish — and for Pope.” 8 

Rhetoric is concerned primarily with effects rather than with 
causes. Hence the rhetorical interest in sounds is primarily 
psychological rather than physiological. Sounds affect us in 
certain ways determined by personal susceptibility and the 
laws of mental action. In general, we may say that the more 

8 Austin Dobson, “A Dialogue. To Ihe Memory of Mr. Alexander 
Pope.” 


268 


open sounds are associated wit h large, uplifting .ideas, and the 
more constricted sounds, produceawith muscular difficulty, 
tend to the opposite effects. 

Sounds of language are like the morning drum-beat in a 
sleeping camp. The day with common duties comes, but the 
meaning of the day is personal in every tent. The pounds of 
language call us to a common thought, but the meaning of the 
thought is variously interpreted in individual experience. 

The sounds of language breathe through the mouth and the 
hollows of the nose, and they are variously modified by the 
shape of the resonant chamber of the mouth, relatively open, 
forming vowels, and relatively close, forming consonants. 
There is no fixed division between vowels and consonants, but 
they sensitively merge and shift along the line of the liquids . 7 

2. The Vowels. — The fact that each vowel has a distinct 
musical pitch is a basis for a practical and important classifica- 
tion of sound-effects. 

The vowel succession from the lowest pitch to the highest 
may be partitioned into three groups of vowel sounds that are 
related to three typical forms of the cavity of the mouth. The 
first group is characterized by a partial constriction of the 
stream of air by the lips and the tongue with a resonant back 
space. The second group is characterized by the lips drawn 
apart so that constriction of the stream of air is caused not 
by the lips but by the middle of the tongue. The third group 
is characterized by a funnel-shaped resonance cavity uniformly 
enlarged from the larynx to the lips. 

The vowel A (a in father) is the medial sound and the 
common origin of all the other sounds . 8 These vowel sounds 
should be made and observed until experience shows that the 
sounds of the first group are referred to the front of the mouth, 
the second group to the roof of the mouth, and the third group 
to the back of the mouth. 

The vowel progression from high pitch to low pitch, dis- 
played in the three groups, is as follows : 

^- J Yx)w£h Ch-ar? — 

Group 1: High Pitch Group II: Medium Fitcn Group III: Low Pitch 


i 

sit 

If 

site 

au 

caught 

s 

set 

u 

sue 

oi 

boil 

a 

sat 

a 

father 

ou 

could 

e 

see 

u 

but 

ow 

how 

ai 

fair 

uf 

surd 

0 

no 

a 

fay 



65 

noon 


7 Scripture, “Elements of Experimental Phonetics,” ch. 29. 
•Helmholtz, “Sensations of Tone,” p. 105. 


269 

The range of pitch in the vowel progression may be shown 
in a suggestive way on a three-line scale recording the high 
pitch vowels on the top line, the low pitch vowels on the bot- 
tom line, and the medium pitch vowels between ; or on a seven- 
teen-line scale recording the vowels from high pitch to low 
pitch. Only the accented syllables count, and the tabulation of 
these in succession shows the range and intensity of the chang- 
ing pitch. This may be illustrated in the following Mother 
Goose melody: 

i I / / / / 

Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye, 

/ • 11 $ / 

Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie, 

11 / 111 

When the pie was opened the birds began to sing, 

/ / / / / 1 

Wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the King? 

These lines Tiave a strength of swinging rhythm which is 
due to the bold transitions of pitch from the top to the bottom 
of the scale. With almost metrical regularity the vowel pro- 
gression recurs in each line to the vowel sounds of Group III 
in the full-toned resonance of song, fill}, four, opened, before. 
The spell that holds the child before he understands the words 
is the elemental music of the syllables. 

The greater the range of the pitch the more striking is the 
effect. In fhe article, before quoted, from the “Outlook/’ the 
writer says, * * * “a sudden rise or fall in pitch, in other 

words a leap, is more powerful in expression than a gradual 
rise or fall by steps. Melodies that go up and down along 
the scale-line are not so striking as those in which there are 
wide jumps: they arouse in us quieter, more restrained feel- 
ings. One reason why ‘Dixie’ has so much more ‘go’ than 
‘Yankee Doodle’ is that the line of its melody is so much 
bolder.” 

In the last act of the “Merchant of Venice” is a tranquil 
vowel progression which sublimates the emotional content of 
love and moonlight in a melody of sound : 

Lor. The Moon shines bright. In such a night as this, 

When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, 

And they did make no noise, — in such a night 
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, 

And sigh’d his soul toward the Grecian tents, 

Where Cressid lay that night. 

Jessica. In such a night 

Did Thisbe fearfully o’ertrip the dew; 

And saw the lion’s shadow ere himself, 

And ran dismay’d away. 


Lorenzo. In such a night 

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 
Upon the wild sea-banks, and wav’d her love 
To come again to Carthage. 

The line, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, 
is a monotone of the high-pitched vowels of Group I. In the 
next line no noise drops to the low pitch of Group III, as 
though at the word noise the very air was startled. In Jessica’s 
speech the vowel sequence never crosses long intervals, but 
moves in gentle undulation. The consonants give character to 
the vowel progression. The nasal mutes and the voiceless sibi- 
lants in Lorenzo’s speech breathe and sigh like the sweet wind 
that did gently kiss the trees. In Jessica’s reply the surds hush 
and hurry on and make no noise. In Lorenzo’s second speech 
the sound stops with the mutes, and sweeps across the scale in 
willow and moves among precipitous consonants, with the last 
deep breath of the palatals, like the sighing of the wind. 

The Yale Song, “Mother of Men,” has a strong vowel pro- 
gression that enhances the sentiment and the music. 

“Mother of Men, grown strong in giving 
Honor to them thy lights have led; 

Rich in the toil of thousands living. 

Proud of the deeds of thousands dead, 

We who have felt thy power and known thee. 

We in whose work thy gifts avail, 

High in our hearts enshrined, enthrone thee, 

Mother of Men, Old Yale.” 9 

In the third, fourth, fifth, and eighth lines there is the 
extreme range of sound from high to low pitch, with the 
energy attending it forming two sound-climaxes, and the final 
climax is enhanced by the resonance of Mother of Men, and 
by the full O stopped by the mute d, to be lifted again on the 
exultant, palatal, high-pitched Yale. 

3. The Consonants. — Consonants., va rio u s l y mod ify the 
stream of air, giving to vowel sounds individuality and djs^ 
tincfive character ^giving to syllables beginnings or encfings ; ' 
giving voice or binding to silence ; deepening resonance in the 
nasal passages; using the liquids jarring or trilling; massing 
ragged effects and distributing smooth effects ; accelerating the 
vocal stream or retarding the stream; hurling explosives and 
palatals back and forth from lips, from throat, — precipitous 
battle crashings of storm-breath rising and falling; clutching 
the throat with the palatals ; stirring the vowels with aspirate 
breathing, and rustling and hissing ; controlling the drift with 


9 Brian Hooker, Yale, ’02. 


clear-cut, decisive dentals; saving the sibilants; awakening 
music in spirant and liquid and mute. The consonants are 
shown in Chart I. 



Consonant Chart I. 


Consonants 

Labials 

Dentals 

Palatals 

Spirant Sonants 

V, w 

th(e), z 

zh, y 

Spirant Surds 

f, wh 

th(in), s 

sh, h 

Liquids 


1 

r 

Mute Nasals 

m, n 


Eg 

Mute Surds 

P 

t 

ch, k 

Mute Sonants 

b 

d 

i. g 


Consonant effects may be classified in three groups, each 
group having distinctive rhetorical character. 

Group I consists of easy-flowing sounds under which should 
be named 1, r, m, n, ng, w, y. Of these it should be noted that 
1, r are liquids — / caused by a jarring of the stream of air 
with the siaes’of the tongue, and V caused by rolling or trilling 
the stream of air with the tip of the tongue; m, n, ng are 
nasals having deep resonance caused by admitting the stream 
of air to the nasal passages, thereby lengthening the resonant 
chamber of the mouth ; w, y are semi-vowels having, like all 
the other letters in this group, the characteristic flowing effect 
of liquids. 

Group II consists of those sounds that are characterized by 
sharpening or rustling or roughening the stream of air through 
friction. These are f, v, s, z, sh, h, th(in), th(e) ; they are 
called fricatives or spirants, and they are the means of vivid 
and suggestive rhetorical effects, for they breathe thickly and 
hoarsely, they sigh, whistle, clash, gasp, hiss, sing. 

Group III consists of sounds characterized by, stopping the 
stream of air by closing the mouth. These are p, b, t, d, c, 
j, k, g: they are all mutes : if they are formed at the lips they 
are" calle d labial s, if just back of the teeth they are dentals, 

if they are ma3e farther back in the throat they are called 

pal atals. To the definite effect of occlusion they often add a 
pronounced explosive effect from the lips, or guttural effect 
from the throat. 

For purposes of ready comparison these groups are displayed 
together in Chart II. 

Consonant Chart II. 

Grou p 1 }l, r, m, n, ng, w, y 

Group II {§§^5^ } f ’ v ’ s ’ z > sh zh > th ( in )> th (e), h 

Group III { ^gP - ?g 2g}p, b, t, d, c, j, k, g 


272 


Another useful rhetorical classification of consonant sounds 
discriminates between sonants and surds. The sonants are 
the voiced sounds made by the vibration of the vocal chords. 
The surds are the voiceless sounds made without such vibra- 
tion merely by breathing. The presence or absence of vibra- 
tion of the vocal chords may be noted by placing the hand on 
the throat and pronouncing the different sounds. Chart III 
shows this classification. 

Consonant Chart III. 

Sonants v, w, th(e), z, zh, y, b, d, j, s 
Surds f, wh, th(in), s, sh, h, p, t, ch, k 

A passage strong in consonant contrasts and effectiveness is 
the following from Ruskin, describing the square in front of 
St. Mark's Cathedral in Venice. Study the liquid effect of 
all day long knots of men of the lowest classes, unemployed and 
listless, lie basking in the sun like lizards . Study also the fric- 
tion effects of throats hoarse with cursing, gamble, and fight, 
and snarl, and sleep, hour after hour, clashing their bruised 
centesimi. 

“Round the whole square in front of the church there is almost a 
continuous line of cafes, where the idle Venetians of the middle classes 
lounge, and read empty journals; in its center the Austrian bands play 
during the time of vespers, their martial music jarring with the organ 
notes — the march drowning the miserere, and the sullen crowd thick- 
ening round them — a crowd, which, if it had its will, would stiletto 
every soldier that pipes to it. And in the recesses of the porches, all 
day long, knots of men of the lowest classes, unemployed and listless, 
lie basking in the sun like lizards; and unregarded children — every 
heavy glance of their young eyes full of desperation and stony deprav- 
ity, and their throats hoarse with cursing— gamble, and fight, and 
snarl, and sleep, hour after hour, clashing their bruised centesimi upon 
the marble ledges of the church porch. And the images of Christ and 
His angels look down upon it continually.” 10 

Effects of occlusion and friction are used to give realism to 
the description of battle in “The Passing of Arthur.” The 
imagination awakes at the sound of the syllables and the de- 
scription is accompanied by sounds of battle. 

“For friend and foe were shadows in the mist, 

And friend slew friend not knowing whom he slew; 

And some had visions out of golden youth, 

And some beheld the faces of old ghosts 
Look in upon the battle ; and in the mist 
Was many a noble deed, many a base, 

And chance and craft and strength in single fights, 

And ever and anon with host to host 


10 John Ruskin (1819-1899), “Stones of Venice.’ 


273 


Shocks, and the splintering spear, the hard mail hewn, 
Shield-breakings, and the clash of brands, the crash 
Of battleaxes on shatter’d helms, and shrieks 
After the Christ, of those who falling down 
Look’d up for heaven, and only saw the mist ; 

And shouts of heathen and the traitor knights, 

Oaths, insult, filth, and monstrous blasphemies, 

Sweat, writhings, anguish, labouring of the lungs 
In that close mist, and cryings for the light, 

Moans of the dying, and voices of the dead. 11 

Sound quality is so important in all writing that it has to be 
recognized as affecting its usefulness and efficiency. All speech 
was music once, and now that the onomatopoetic quality is no 
longer essential to the meaning, it is, nevertheless, half uncon- 
sciously sought as an important element in composition. Here 
is an example of the sound element in Mr. Kipling’s style: 
“The calculating craftsmanship that camps alone before the 
sputtering rifle-pit and cleanly and methodically wipes out 
every living soul in it .” 12 In these lines there are voiceless pala- 
tals like men stealthily running, and throbbing labials like puffs 
of gun-smoke from cover, and the gliding impact of occlusives 
that close through set teeth, and a blast of sonorous breath 
that hisses at the last like water on hot iron. 

Sound progression may be studied in the following passages 
suitable for treatment as theme-studies. In the first there 
is resonance singing everlastingly. In the second there is 
daifltyi decisive effect of liquid and dental, tip-tilted like the 
petal of a flower. In the third there is the QSdusionand fric- 
tion of all unpleasantness in loathed Melancholy. . In the 
"fourth there are measures of deep harmony in the liquid theme 
of the vision, in the friction theme of sects and schisms, and 
in the strong pulse of the occlusives. In the sound of it there 
is the transcendence of unwritten epics. 

“Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 
Their loud up-lifted Angel trumpets blow, 

And the Cherubick host in thousand quires 
Touch their immortal Harps of golden wires, 

With those just Spirits that wear victorious Palms, 

Hymns devout and holy Psalms 
Singing everlastingly.” 18 

“A damsel of high lineage, and a brow 
May-blossom, and a cheek of apple-blossom, 

Hawk-eyes ; and lightly was her slender nose 
Tip-tilted like the petal of a flower.” 14 


“Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892), “The Passing of Arthur” in “Idylls 
of the King.” 

““Winning the Victoria Cross,” The Youth’s Companion, June 3, 
1897. 

18 John Milton (1608-1674), “At a Solemn Musick.” 

14 Tennyson, “Gareth and Lynette” in “Idylls of the King.” 


274 


“Hence, loathed Melancholy, 

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born 
In Stygian cave forlorn 

’Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy ! 

Find out some uncouth cell, 

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, 

And the night-raven sings; 

There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, 

As ragged as thy locks, 

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.” 15 

“Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing 
herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks : 
Methinks I see her as an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling 
her undazzled eyes at the full midday beam ; purging and unsealing her 
long-abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance; while the 
whole noise of timorous and flocking birds, with those also that love 
the twilight, flutter about, amazed at what she means, and in their en- 
vious gabble would prognosticate a year of sects and schisms.” 18 

4. Euphony. — Euphony is pleasing sound, and it comes 
from the single syllable. A s yllaBleTES soqnds well is eupho- 
nious; this is elemental sound. A sound progression in the 
succession of syllables gives melody, and* melodyAs a simple 
sound-relation which we study in vowel and consonant se- 
quences. But euphony is an elemental effect of the single 
syllable. 

‘ Unity requires that all elements of expressiveness contribute 
to one effect. Sound is an element of expressiveness, and it 
therefore follows, in Pope’s phrase, that — 

“The sound must seem an echo to the sense ” 

In ordinary prose the effect is intellectual and the selection 
and composition of the elements are controlled by a principle 
of utility, excluding elements that do not contribute to the 
intellectual effect, and subordinating such influences as are not 
intellectual. The effect of sound is largely emotional, there- 
fore in ordinary prose sound is subordinated. 

Sound cannot be eliminated: actually or constructively it is 
always present in language. It should be under control and 
should be made to help without being in evidence. Unob- 
trusiveness subordinates sound. Sound should serve the sense 
like a servant whose ministrations are enjoyed because they 
are unobtrusive. 

In all composition we seek a golden mean in sound, neither 
leaving it to the hap-hazard of neglect nor permitting it to 
absorb undue attention. 


15 Milton, “V Allegro.” 

18 Milton, “Areopagitica.” 


2 75 


In speaking of a song in “The Foresters/’ Tennyson re- 
marked “ ‘Robin and Richard.’ Did you notice that I would 
not say ‘Richard and Robin?’ It does not sound well .” 17 

Euphony is a subject of study. It is very important in all 
composition and everywhere worthy of serious attention. 

To the English mind euphony is not a meaningless phrase, 
for there are sounds that are distinctively pleasing to English 
ears. This euphony was given quality and modulation some- 
where between the North Sea and the Mediterranean. English 
is not so guttural as the Germanic languages or so liquid as the 
Romance languages. The Bay of Naples and the fiords of 
Norway give light and shade to English euphony. There is a 
wide range in it, from the trilling bird notes, “rapid as any 
lark,” to the thundering of Thor’s hammer. 

The sensitiveness of the English language to_^pund-express- 
iveness, and its elasticity and freedom of arrangement and 
displacement, give to English euphony almost measureless 
influence. The language was most flexible as used by Spenser, 
Shakespeare, Bacon, Hooker, and Milton, filling Elizabethan 
days with “sounds that echo still.” The eighteenth century 
writers tried to discipline and reduce this receptive and adapt- 
able language of Anglo-Norman euphony to classical regu- 
larity. The meter of the heroic couplet perplexed the deeper 
music of the rhythm, and satire dried the springs of the emo- 
tions until, through sheer loss of rhetorical power, men longed 
again for the old free English sounds expressing the genius 
of the English people. 

It is noteworthy that this loss in English euphony in the 
eighteenth century was attended with a loss of expressiveness 
in utterance. Bishop Berkeley 18 queried, “Whether half the 
learning of these kingdoms be not lost, for want of having a 
proper delivery taught in our schools and colleges?” Profes- 
sor Earle comments on this as follows : 

“This query of Bishop Berkeley’s seems to imply that the modula- 
tion which makes the beauty of Language ought always to accompany 
cultivated speech; — that such accompaniment renders it more agreeable 
and more persuasive, more effective also for the conveyance of meaning 
and the diffusion of knowledge; — that a melodious command of the 
mother tongue is the natural and proper finish of a high education, and 
that something is wanting to the humanizing instrumentality of Speech 
unless it have the support and illustrative cooperation of Noble Sound.” 1 * 

The romanticism of the nineteenth century has tended to 
restore to the language the power of Elizabethan euphony. 
American standard English emphasizes this tendency as the 

17 “Alfred Lord Tennyson: A Memoir,” vol. II, p. 404. 

“George Berkeley (1685-1753). 

19 “The Philology of the English Tongue,” p. 629. 


276 

speech of a new composite people quickened into sympathy 
with all the world. 

English euphony is deepened by the triple melody of allitera- 
tion, rhyme , and assonance. Of the relation of these to ac- 
centuation7 Earle writes as follows : 

“The various kinds of by-play in poetry, such as alliteration, rhyme, 
and assonance, seem all to harmonise with the accentuation. While 
alliteration belongs naturally to a language which tends to throw its 
accent as far back as possible towards the beginning of the word, 
rhyme and assonance suit those which lean towards a terminal accentu- 
ation. Hence alliteration is the domestic artifice of Teutonic poetry, 
as rhyme and assonance are of the Romanesque .” 20 

Alliteration is indigenous to English speech ; it was the 
strong pulse of fhe ola poetry in Northumbria long before 
rhyme came into England, and it is a strong music still pleasing 
to English ears. The music of utterance that prolongs final 
sounds gave to the Arabians dictionaries arranged by rhyme- 
endings, and a liking for rhyme and for assonance that came 
with Arabian culture into Europe from the eighth to the 
eleventh centuries and through Norman influence into the Eng- 
lish language. 

The euphony of rhyme and of assonance is a softening influ- 
ence, the function of which is conditioned by the strength of 
English quality. Rhyme and assonance have their function to 
reveal beauty and grace and the 3^Tj#f r The lan- 

guage thatspont Jfieously followsthe thought is naturally 
adapted to the thought, and the genial influences of truth are 
felt in a concord of sweet sounds. This spontaneous adapta- 
tion of sound to sense occurs most naturally in the original 
process of composition ; in revision, however, this spontaneity 
is sometimes lost. Revision usually softens the sounds and, if 
this tendency be not guarded against, revision will weaken the 
composition. Nothing disturbs English quality so directly as 
taking out the strong consonants. The English way is usually 
the strong way. 

Alliteration proceeds from initial energy and it is a conso- 
nant, mojtjg: it follows from this that alliteration is normally^ 
a form of emph asi s . It is a strong music deeply natural in 
English rhetoric English idiom is wrought in alliterative 
phrases. A list of such phrases is cited by Earle, among them 
the following: 

Cark and care, chick nor child, fear nor favor, have and hold, holt 
and heath, house and home, kith and kin, rhyme and reason, safe and 
sound, stock and stone, watch and ward, weal and woe, wise and wary, 
wit and wisdom, wind and weather. 21 


20 Ibid, p. 626. 

21 Ibid, p. 625. 


277 


Use with caution and discrimination all sound progressions 
involving noticeable combinations. In the intellectual type of 
composition such combinations are distracting ; in the imagina- 
tive or impassioned types, where they are more usually found,, 
they are desirable only so far as they merge naturally with the 
figurative or emotional atmosphere, thereby contributing to 
unity of effect. 

Beware suggesting a Mother Goose Melody like that of “the 
house that Jack built. ,, Nothing is more distracting than a 
jingle movement; it is the negation of intellectual control. 

Beware sibilant or jingling combinations. Tennyson com- 
mented on Pope’s line, 

“What dire offence from amorous causes springs.” 

“ ‘Amrus causiz springs’ — horrible ! I would sooner die than 
write such a line ! !” 22 The poet said, “I never put two s’s 
together in any verse of mine.” He thought it necessary for 
blank verse that the writer have a good ear for vowel sounds, 
and that he do away with .siJbilants, which he called “kicking 
the geese out of the boat.” 

Extraordinary combinations may be used on occasion for 
humorous effect, but such uses constitute the exception that 
proves the rule. The rule is that under normal conditions any 
sound effect so striking as to usurp the prerogative of control 
that belongs to the thought is bad and ought to be avoided. 

Euphony is like an instrumental accompaniment in singing: 
it should develop an<J sustain but should not dominate ; it is 
illustrative and suggestive and interpretative but not control- 
ling. Euphony is best when pervasive, elusive, filling the air 
with the music of unseen strings like the harp in the window. 
When alliteration attracts attention it loses its charm; when 
assonance is definitely located it ceases to please ; when rhyme 
becomes monotonous it palls upon us. “Linked sweetness long V 
drawn out” is not English euphony. That is weakness, and 
weakness does not sound well to English ears. Euphony is 
various like the four winds of the changing year that range 
from the summer breeze to the storm wind of the equinox. 

There was English euphony that pleased Tennyson in the 
rush of the alliterative verse of “The Battle of Brunanburh” : 
it sounded like old English war-songs : 

“The struggle of standards, 

The rush of the javelins, 

The crash of the charges, 

The wielding of weapons, 

The play that they play’d with, 

The children of Edward.” 2 * 

““Alfred Lord Tennyson: A Memoir,” vol. II, p. 286. 

““Alfred Lord Tennyson: A Memoir,” vol. II, p. 255. 


278 


There is characteristic euphony in every great writer, a kind 
of tone-color that distinguishes his style. Samuel Johnson, 
De Quincey, Carlyle — each has a style that is characteristic in 
its euphony. The tone of Johnson is grave — a deep and im- 
pressive accompaniment to the thought : 

“Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy, and pursue 
with eagerness the phantoms of hope, who expect that age will per- 
form the promises of youth, and that the deficiencies of the present 
day will be supplied by the morrow, attend to the history of Rasselas, 
prince of Abyssinia.” 24 

The tone of De Quincey is tense, stirring the imagination 
with strange impulses : 

“This pageant would suddenly dissolve; and, at a clapping of hands, 
would be heard the heart-quaking sound of Consul Romanus ; and im- 
mediately came ‘sweeping by/ in gorgeous paludaments, Paulus or 
Marius, girt round by a company of centurions, with the crimson tunic 
hoisted on a spear, and followed by the alalagmos of the Roman le- 
gions.” 25 

The tone of Carlyle is tragic — broken battle-music, pre- 
cipitous clashings of sound out of the gloom. Thus he writes 
of Cromwell : 

“What had this man gained; what had he gained? He had a life of 
sore strife and toil, to his last day. Fame, ambition, place in History? 
His dead body was hung in chains ; his ‘place in history’ — place in His- 
tory forsooth ! — has been a place of ignominy, accusation, blackness, 
and disgrace; and here, this day, who knows if it is not rash in me to 
be among the first that ever ventured to pronounce him not a knave 
and liar, but a genuinely honest man! Peace to him. Did he not, in 
spite of all, accomplish much for us? We walk smoothly over his 
great rough heroic life; step over his body sunk in the ditch there. 
We need not spurn it, as we step on it! Let the Hero rest. It was 
not to men’s judgment that he appealed; nor have men judged him 
very well.” 28 

5 . Rhythm. — Rhythm is the ^essential mark of rhetorical 
quality characterizing both poetry an3 prose, in all rhetorical 
expression it illustrates Emerson’s saying, that “We live by 
pulses.” Life coming into relation with thought through a 
medium of expression gives to that medium pulsation. Rhythm 
is specifically the effect of feeling giving emphasis to expres- 
sion. It is therefore subjective and distinct from meter, which 
is the characteristic objective mark of verse. Rhythm is an 
effect from within, meter from without; rhythm is natural, 
meter artificial. While art always tends to lose itself in natu- 

24 Samuel Johnson (1709-1784), “Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia,” ch. 1. 

25 Thomas De Quincey (1785-1859), “English Opium Eater.” 

28 Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881), “The Hero as King” in “Heroes and 
Hero-Worship.” 


279 

ralness, the artificiality of meter is abhorrent to the rhythm 
of prose. 

Rhythm comes from heart-beats. Composition is a pro- 
jection in language of a state of consciousness and the rhythmic 
beating of time in composition corresponds with the beat- 
ing of the heart as it is deeply felt in consciousness. When 
the beating of the rhythm is slower than normal heart-beats 
the effect in consciousness is depressing; when the beating 
of the rhythm is faster than normal heart-beats the effect in 
consciousness is exhilarating. 

The first function of rhythm is ^r egula tive : it gives a firm 
structure to the composition. Rhy t nm" is Tfe primal law of 
composition giving succession and consistency and strength, 
and all the forces of the composition obey this law. Melody 
and thought follow the beating of the rhythm. 

The second function of rhythm is expressfy e. Primitive 
music illustrates such expressiveness in the use of rhythmic 
percussion instruments, — gongs, drums, kettle-drums, cymbals, 
castanets, rattles, clappers, whirring instruments, — in the stamp- 
ing of feet and the clapping of hands. The effect of rhythm 
may be hypnotic or it may be stimulating. Witchcraft and 
magic owe much to the hypnotic influence of rhythmic instru- 
ments ; musical healing has been successfully practiced among 
primitive peoples by the use of rhythmic instruments. The 
drums of the marching regiment, the work song of the laborers, 
the chantey of the sailors, the beating of the surf, the tolling of 
the bell, the intoning of the service, — all these show the ex- 
pressiveness of rhythm. Effects of rhythm are relative to the 
beating of the heart, faster or slower or alternating ; or stronger 
or weaker or alternating. 

The expressiveness of rhythm is described by a recent Ger- 
man writer as follows : 

“The Orient has done remarkable things in the invention of percus- 
sion instruments, and it is astonishing how capable of modulation are 
even the drums and kettledrums that are in use in the Orient. They 
can crash like a fanfare or sound as dull and hollow as a dirge. The 
monotonous rattling of a pair of castanets, when correctly played, can 
suggest whole melodies. The cymbal and also the gong originated in 
the Orient. There is no sharper contrast than the strong voluptuous- 
ness of the cymbal, which so well accentuates the sensuous moods (for 
example, the Venusberg scene in “Tannhauser”), and the dull, hollow 
vibration of the gong.” 2T 

The emotions, like storm influences at sea lifting the ocea» 
in surges and beating it into waves, impart to prose an undula- 

37 Annual Report Smithsonian Institution, 1912; “The Music of Primi- 
tive Peoples,” Willy Pastor, translated from Zeitschrift fur Ethnologie, 
Berlin, vol. 42. 


28 o 


tion deep and strong and various. As the emotional influence 
increases, this undulation of rhythm becomes more regular, 
verging into meter and the monotony of sing-song. This is 
a danger to be guarded against, as such monotony of sound 
implies that the sense is controlled by feelings. Prose rhythm 
should be as various as the changing thought, illustrating the 
meaning by associated harmonies. It shouldYollow the thought, 
not lead it. 

Rhythm begins in elemental sound-relations. The element 
is the syllable ; the unit of movement is the phrase. As letters 
coalesce into a syllable, giving a sound which is the element 
of ' sound-quality, so syllables coalesce into a phrase. As the 
wind on a field of grain bends it all one way, the pervasive 
stress of a phrase bends it towards an accented syllable. This 
is the synthetic stress of the rhythmic phrase. Rhythm is the 
pulse-beat of literature, and it is counted in phrase-relations 
from accent to accent. Every one has noted in experience that 
some prose reads easily and some with difficulty. Such differ- 
ences are caused by the character of the phrases. 

In literature read in phrases, in composition write in phrases, 
and the habit you will be fixing will have an immediate effect 
on your own writing and thinking. You will see at once that 
the effect of the dissyllable or the monosyllable is distinctive, 
and that rarely can one replace the other without radically 
changing the character of the composition. 

A succession of syllables that is unmusical, or a misplaced 
accent troubles the movement like a snag in running water. 
The movement, swift or slow, accelerated or retarded, with the 
spirit that attaches to movement and the range of quality con- 
trolled by consonant and vowel sounds, gives to the mechanism 
of words a vital character that transforms it into an organism. 

Music and speech are never entirely separable. Each is a 
modulation of sound, but music arises in feeling and speech 
arises in meaning. Emotional life and intellectual life are 
related in experience, and thence it comes that laws of associa- 
tion give to music speech, and give to speech music. 

In “Lorna Doone” is a passage of rhythmic beauty telling 
•of the ride of John Ridd on Tom Eaggus’ strawberry mare. 
The rhythm is a movement of “delicate motion, fluent, and 
.graceful, and ambient.” The music of it stirs the feelings, 
while the meaning runs in the phrases. Mark the rhythmic 
phrases, the accents, the melody of sound “all in the front of 
the wind,” the breathless exhilaration, the consonant impulses, 
and the cadence. 

“Straight away, all in the front of the wind, and scattering clouds 
around her, all I know of the speed we made was the frightful flash 
of her shoulders, and her mane, like trees in the tempest. I felt the 


earth under us rushing away, and the air left far behind us, and my 
breath came and went, and I prayed to God, and was sorry to be so 
late of it. 

“All the long swift while, without power of thought, I clung to her 
crest and shoulders, and dug my nails into her creases, and my toes 
into her flank part, and was proud of holding on so long, though sure 
of being beaten. Then in her fury at feeling me still, she rushed at 
another device for it, and leaped the wide water-trough sideways 
across, to and fro, till no breath was left in me. The hazel boughs 
took me too hard in the face, and tall dog-briers got hold of me, and 
the ache of my back was like crimping a fish; till I longed to give it 
up, thoroughly beaten, and lie there and die in the creases. But there 
came a shrill whistle from up the home hill, where the people had hur- 
ried to watch us ; and the mare stopped as if with a bullet ; then set off 
for home with the speed of a swallow, and going as smoothly and 
silently. I never had dreamed of such delicate motion, fluent, and 
graceful, and ambient, soft as the breeze flitting over the flowers, but 
swift as the summer lightning. I sat up again, but my strength was all 
spent, and no time -left to recover it; and though she rose at our gate 
like a bird, I tumbled off into the mixen.” 28 

“The Bells” 29 is a poem full of stirring sound and rhythmic 
expressiveness. Each strophe of it has a distinct musical 
theme: the first is “Silver bells,” the second “Golden bells,” 
the third “Brazen bells,” the fourth “Iron bells.” Each strophe 
is a musical composition in which all the parts are tuned to- 
gether, and each strophe has unity of interest in vowel and 
consonant effects and in the rhythm of pitch and quality and 
intensity. Analysis of the four muscial themes of the poem 
and an appreciative study of the harmony of the composition 
will deepen appreciation of the musical effects in general litera- 
ture. 

Through the pulsing intervals of sound the burden of proph- 
ecy in every thought may find expression. The poet has visions 
that he does not fully understand, and his poem has power 
that he cannot entirely explain. Rhetorical expression has a 
spiritual content deeper than the logic of the sequences of 
thought, deeper than the conception of the words, and it often 
happens that this spiritual content is found in the music of the 
syllables, inspiring the whole composition with the breath of 
life. 

President Lincoln’s letter, written to a bereaved mother in 
1 864, 30 has a phrase- rhythm like that of the Gettysburg Ad- 
dress. The rhythm follows the thought, and the sound of the 
undulation beneath and beyond the thought is an infinite means 
of expression. These are the rhythmic phrases : 

28 R. D. Blackmore (1825-1900), “Lorna Doone: A Romance of Ex- 
tnoor yy 

“Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849). “The Bells.” 

10 Abraham Lincoln (1809-1865), Letter to Mrs. Bixby, November 21, 

1864. 


282 


“Dear Madam:— 

I have been shown in the war department 
a statement of the adjutant general of Massachusetts, 
that you are the mother of five sons 
who have died gloriously on the field of battle. 

I feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine 
which should attempt to beguile you 
from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. 

But I cannot refrain 

from tendering to you 

the consolation that may be found 

in the thanks of the republic they died to save. 

I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage 

the anguish of your bereavement, 

and leave you only the cherished memory 

of the loved and lost, 

and the solemn pride 

that must be yours 

to have laid so costly a sacrifice 

upon the altar of freedom. 

Very respectfully yours, 

Abraham Lincoln.” 

6. Analysis of Rhythm. — The effect of language is con- 
tinuous ; it is not a succession of separate parts or a monotony 
of continuity, but an undulation of continuous sound. Sound- 
progressions having undulations of effect caused by change in 
the quality of the voice, in the pitch of the sound, in the in- 
, tensity of utterance, and marked also by the duration of the 
I ■ wave lengths of sound, produce the phenomena of rhythm. 

-• • Professor Scripture states a law that “rhythm in tones is 

dependent on changes in quality, pitch, intensity, and dura- 
tion/’ and deduces a formula as follows : “If by r we indicate 
/ the rhythmic effect (or rhythmic feeling), r=f (x, y, z, w) 
where x, y, z, w indicate the factors just mentioned.” 31 The 
function (/) made up of the factors quality , pitch, intensity, 
and duration, is a composition of effects giving rhythm as the 
resultant. 

Quo My * — Quali ty comes from the voice. When two sounds 
of different quality, but of tEe^same pitch, duration, and in- 
tensity, follow each other in alternation, the effect is a rhythm 
of quality. Sound, like color, is generally a compound of ele- 
mental parts. A given sound is a composition of elemental 
sounds, and different sound instruments compose sounds in 
characteristic and different ways that distinguish the instru- 
ment. The violin has one quality, the flute has another; the 
quality of the instrument changes with the shape of the reso- 
nance chamber. The resonance chamber of the human voice 


“ “Elements of Experimental Phonetics,” ch. 36, p. 518. 


283 

changes its shape in speaking different sounds, and conse- 
quently changes its quality. Each syllable has a characteristic 
and distinctive quality, because the shape of the mouth is the 
same whenever that syllable is pronounced. In the succession 
of different syllables, there develops a quality succession which 
is a means of rhythmic effect. 

The English-speaking voice has English quality, which is 
distinctive and racial. While the resonance chamber of the 
human voice changes its shape and quality in making different 
sounds, there is a fundamental human quality almost inimi- 
table, and the racial differences of quality are never lost. 
Very pleasant to the wanderer in a strange land are the voices 
of his own countrymen. There is individual quality, also, con- 
stituting a permanent personal basis of style. This personal 
quality runs through all the changes of rhythm, deepening 
the rhythm with an influence as immutable as personal identity. 

Pitch . — Each vowel sound has a distinct musical, pitch . 32 
When two sounds of different pitch, but of the same duration, 
quality, and intensity, follow each other in alternation, the 
effect is a rhythm of pitch. The characteristic pitch of each 
/ , , w vowel is a rhythmic element in language itself ; this character- 
; A- . istic pitch remains the same for men and women, for old and 

young. As alterations of pitch take place by intervals and 
not by continuous transition, such alterations accentuate the 
rhythmic effect of the changing pitch in a vowel progression. 
Each vowel or diphthong is a synthetic stress center in all 
sound progression, becoming through its characteristic pitch 
the nucleus of a sphere of influence. This sphere of influence 
is the syllable : it is elemental, indivisible, and is a factor of 
rhythm residing in the very nature of the vowel sounds. 

Intensity . — Intensity is a factor of rhythmic effect. Intensity 
loudness or softness of sound. Sound is a mode of 
vibration; intensity depends upon the amplitude of vibration; 
the more strongly a guitar string is picked, the wider will be the 
vibration and the louder and more intense the sound. Of two 
spoken sounds of the same pitch and quality, the one spoken 
with greater stress of utterance has the greater intensity. 

Accent is a distinction of intensity. In a progression of 
syllables a coordinate series of accents gives rhythmic effect. 
This is obviously true in metrical composition, where the ac- 
cent falls at equal intervals ; it is also true in other composition, 
where the accent falls not at equal but at coordinate intervals. 
This unequal but coordinate stress is an undulation of personal 
energy in all rhetorical composition, and this constitutes the 


" Helmholtz, “Sensations of Tone,” p. 108. 


284 


phrase rhythm which, like the sea, surges and runs through 
literature. This is the deep undulation of intensity in prose 
and poetry alike. It is the effect in language of thinking. 
The Self seeks the truth through the depths of abstraction, 
and the line of creative thinking is marked by energy of impact 
that varies with the genial relation of truth and the Self. The 
experience of this relation is beauty, and the effect upon lan- 
guage of this line of beauty is a rhythm of intensity. 

In ancient literature syllables were long or short, having a 
fixed quantity of time for pronunciation, and this quantity was 
the measure of movement. In English composition the sylla- 
bles are accented or unaccented, and the unaccented syllable 
has an adaptability that permits rapid utterance in a sequence 
of syllables that is relative to the time of the accented syllable. 
Syllables are standardized by equal or coordinate time inter- 
vals, giving a rhythmic effect sometimes accentuated by a 
silence like a musical rest having the time of an unaccented 
syllable. 

Accent folloXvs the sense. Professor Earle says, “Accent 
appears as the ally and colleague of sense in the structure 
of words/’ 33 The accent is not placed on a syllable inherently 
long, but on a syllable having important meaning. It is note- 
worthy that the meaning controls the composition. The very 
essence of the thought is emphasized in the progression of 
accented syllables, and this progression sounds the melody to 
which the whole composition is attuned. 

Duration . — Time is the qgsential basis o f rhyt hm. Intervals 
of change give recurrent en^Is'TflTe'pulse-beatsr^ The syllable 
is an elemental verse in all literature, giving the undulation 
that is the swelling and flowing of all rhythm. 

The rhythmic element is the syllable, for the syllable — 
whether it be a single letter or a group of letters — is one 
sound. Duration of sound is measured by syllables. 

The basis of rhythm in a measure of time is given various 
musical effects through the nature of the different vowel 
sounds producing changes of pitch, through the quality of 
the voice changing with the different sounds, and through in- 
tensity of utterance changing with the impressiveness of the 
thought. 

7. Harmony. — Harmony is a quality of language made 
up of the factors euphony , me lod y, tnith^ and rhythm. 

Euphony is pleasing sounff'residingln the syllable. Melody 
is a pleasing succession of sounds residing in syllable progres- 
sions. Truth is resident in the thought ; it is a universal factor, 

“ “The Philology of the English Tongue,” p. 165. 



a consistent expression of God and the Works of God known 
to us in matter and spirit and their relations, and the Will 
of God known to us in natural and spiritual laws. Rli yihm 
is resident in language ; it is an individual and personal' factor, 
arising in the Self in emotion following perceptions of truth. 
It is a personal influence struck into language. Truth that is 
congenial to the Self is experienced as beauty, and the effect 
of beauty expressed in rhythm is the chief factor in the rhetor- 
ical quality of harmony. This quality in the Self is experi- 
enced as beauty, in the thought is known as truth, in the word 
is expressed as harmony. And the surge of rhythm from 
these origins is the most mystical effect in literature. The 
pulse-beat of the rhythmic phrase is the quickening impulse of 
truth bringing language into accord with the soul. Lowell’s 
poem, “The Moon,” is a parable of it : 

“My. S014I was, like the sea, 

Before the Tmoen was made, 

Moaning in vague immensity, 

Of its own strength afraid, 

Unrestful and unstaid. 

******* 

So lay my soul within mine eyes 
When thou, its guardian moon, didst rise. 

And now, howe’er its waves above 
May toss and seem uneaseful, 

One strong, eternal law of Love, 

With guidance sure and peaceful, 

As calm and natural as breath, 

Moves its great deeps through life and death.” " 

“By the harmony of words,” says Dryden, “we elevate the 
mind to a sense of devotion, as our solemn musick, which is 
inarticulate poesy, does in churches.” 35 

The power of literature is not different from the power of 
music. In all composition we seek such a melodic progression 
of the syllables as shall give a true musical interpretation of 
the essential harmony. With the refining of the spiritual sense 
we feel it more and more. Browning wrote thus in “Abt 
Vogler” of the passion of this harmony. 

“All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist; 

Not its semblance, but itself ; no beauty, nor good, nor power 
Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist 
When eternity affirms the conception of an hour. 

The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard, 

The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, 

Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard ; 

Enough that he heard it once : we shall hear it by and by. 


“James Russell Lowell (1819-1891), “The Moon.” 
"John Dryden (1631-1700), “Tyrannic Love,” Pref. 


286 


And what is our failure here but a triumph’s evidence 

For the fulness of the days ? Have we withered or agonized ? 

Why else was the pause prolonged, but that singing might issue thence? 

Why rushed the discords in, but that harmony should be prized? 
Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear, 

Each sufferer says his say, his scheme of the weal and woe : 

But God has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear ; 

The rest may reason and welcome : ’tis we musicians know. 

Well, it is earth with me; silence resumes her reign: 

I will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce. 

Give me the keys. I feel for the common chord again, 

Sliding by semitones till I sink to the minor, — yes, 

And I blunt it into a ninth, and I stand on alien ground, 

Surveying awhile the heights I rolled from into the deep ; 

Which, hark, I have dared and done, for my resting-place is found, 
The C Major of this life: so, now I will try to sleep.” 

The music of the spheres which Pythagoras heard is the 
rhythm of the motions of the works of God. Sound is a mode 
of motion, light and heat are modes of motion, electricity is 
a mode of motion, thought is a mode of motion, and motion 
emanates from the throne of God. Richard Hooker says, 
“Who the guide of nature but only the God of nature? In 
him we live, move, and are. Those things which nature is 
said to do are by divine art performed, using nature as an 
instrument.” 36 

All phenomena that are conceived as modes of motion are 
susceptible of musical interpretations. This is the thought of 
Dryden’s “Song for St. Cecilia’s Day.” The first strophe ex- 
presses the conception of universal harmony and man’s relation 
to it: 

“From harmony, from heavenly harmony 
This universal frame began; 

When Nature underneath a heap 
Of jarring atoms lay, 

And could not heave her head, 

The tuneful voice was heard from high. 

Arise, ye more than dead. 

Then cold and hot and moist and dry 
In order to their stations leap, 

And Music’s power obey. 

From harmony, from heavenly harmony, 

This universal frame began : 

From harmony to harmony 
Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 

The diapason closing full in Man.” 

\ 

Different forms of energy by whatever sense they are per- 
ceived stir us emotionally in the same way. The whirlpool 

8# Richard Hooker (1554-1600), “Ecclesiastical Polity,” I, 3, 4. 


287 

rapids at Niagara and the heaving river coming down to the 
head of the Falls affect us like the “heart-shattering music ,, 
of the Dream Fugue. 37 To Carlyle, Justice is like the brilliant 
dissonance of many melodies expressing the tragic mood of a 
symphony : 

“In this God’s World, with its wild-whirling eddies and mad foam- 
oceans, where men and nations perish as if without law, and judgment 
for an unjust thing is sternly delayed, dost thou think that there is 
therefore no justice? It is what the fool hath said in his heart. It is 
what the wise, in all times, were wise because they denied, and knew 
forever not to be. I tell thee again, there is nothing else but justice. 
One strong thing I find here below : the just thing, the true thing.” 38 

Tennyson had the inspiration of music. He was not a Seer 
but a Hearer with an ear for music — “seonian music.” His 
poetry begins with “A Melody” and ends with the lyric, “Cross- 
ing the Bar.” And the story of his poetry is told in the end of 
the autobiographical poem, “Merlin and the Gleam” : 

“The Gleam flying onward 
Wed to the melody 
Sang thro’ the world.” 

The musical theme was so specifically the burden of his 
poetry that the lyric form suggested the epic and the epic form 
was sublimated in a lyric. 

The music in “The Princess” is sublimated in lyrics. “The 
Idylls of the King” have a spiritualized musical interpretation 
in the Mystery Song of Merlin — “From the great deep to the 
great deep he goes,” in the Battle Song of Arthur’s knight- 
hood, in the city built to music, in Lynette’s song of Sensuous- 
ness, in Enid’s song of Fortune, in Vivien’s songs of Nature 
and “the little rift within the lute,” in Elaine’s song of Love 
and Death, in Gawain’s song that Pelleas had heard sung be- 
fore the Queen — “A worm within the rose,” in the “broken 
music” of “The Last Tournament,” in Tristram’s song — “The 
star within the mere,” in the little maid’s song, “Late, late, so 
late,” and in the “noise of battle” at the close — 

“So all day long the noise of battle roll’d 
Among the mountains by the winter sea.” 

These were the first lines also of the “Morte D’Arthur” in 
1835, the noise of battle beginning and ending the cycle, the 
poet’s burden of the world-wide war of Sense and Soul — 

“Among the mountains by the winter sea.” 

87 Thomas De Quincey, “The English Mail Coach.” 

88 “Past and Present,” Book I, ch. 2, “The Sphinx.” 


288 


Things of the senses and things of the mind have a common 
interpretation in music. The music of the syllables will out- 
live the logic and save the cause when the thought is forgotten. 
Lowell writes of this : 

“I have a fancy : how shall I bring it 

Home to all mortals wherever they be? 

Say it or sing it? Shoe it or wing it, 

So it may outrun or outfly ME, 

Merest cocoon-web whence it broke free? 

Only one secret can save from disaster, 

Only one magic is that of the Master. 

Set it to music; give it a tune, — 

Tune the brook sings you, tune the breeze brings you, 

Tune the wild columbines nod to in June.” 39 

Things that come into consciousness sink into sub-conscious- 
ness and rise again in musical influences. This is the emotional 
content of mental life and of literature. The Truth that lies 
in the Deep finds now and then genial expression, and from 
the lips of men words come in rhythmic phrases like the deep 
surge of the sea from beyond the horizon. 

The phrase-rhythm of the “Gettysburg Address” is not an 
artificial effect, neither is it in any superficial way emotional i 

“Fourscore and seven years ago 
our fathers brought forth on this continent 
a new nation, . 
conceived in liberty, 
and dedicated to the proposition 
that all men are created equal. 

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, 
testing whether that nation, 
or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, 
can long endure. 

We are met on a great battle-field of that war. 

We have come to dedicate a portion of that field 

as a final resting-place 

for those who here gave their lives 

that that nation might live. 

It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. 

But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate — 
we cannot consecrate — 
we cannot hallow — 
this ground. 

The brave men, 
living and dead, 
who struggled here, 

have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. 
The world will little note nor long remember 


“Lowell, “The Secret.” 


289 


what we say here, 

but it can never forget what they did here. 

It is for us, the living, 
rather, 

to be dedicated here 

to the unfinished work which they who fought here 
have thus far so nobly advanced. 

It is rather for us to be here dedicated 

to the great task remaining before us — 

that from these honored dead 

we take increased devotion to that cause 

for which they gave the last full measure of devotion; 

that we here highly resolve 

that these dead shall not have died in vain ; 

that this nation, 

under God, 

shall have a new birth of freedom; 
and that government of the people, 
by the people, 
for the people, 

shall not perish from the earth.” 40 

The processes of composition are like the tuning of an 
orchestra: there is here and there the touch of a bow on a 
violin, and a throb or two of the petulant drums; and now the 
complaining of a discordant string, and the deep breathing of 
the viols and the bird notes of the clarionet. By and by upon 
the dissonance there falls a hush. And presently there is a 
breath of awakening music and in the midst of it a few clear 
notes of glad acceleration. Then it rises and, like a wind that 
gathers strength, it passes on in full, sweeping harmony. 

The Truth that is nowhere in the elements is everywhere in 
the composition. This is the Art of Rhetoric. 

“But Art, — wherein man nowise speaks to men, 

Only to mankind, — Art may tell a truth 
Obliquely, do the thing shall breed the thought, 

Nor wrong the thought, missing the mediate word. 

So may you paint your picture, twice show truth, 

Beyond mere imagery on the wall, — 

So, note by note, bring music from your mind, 

Deeper than ever e’en Beethoven dived, — 

So write a book shall mean beyond the facts, 

Suffice the eye and save the soul beside.” 41 

For forty generations men have thought and written and 
spoken in this language, and it is what their thought and their 
lives have made it. The Song of the English has inspired it, 
and the breath of this music is in English books. The sound 
of any sea-beach is the voice of the sea. And the sound of 
English syllables is a world-song of a thousand years. 

40 “The Gettysburg Address,” November 19, 1863. 

"Browning, “The Ring and the Book,” XII, 854-863. See also X, 
228-230. 


290 


You hear it in English books, in English speech ; it is your 
heritage. It has been a morning prayer; you can make it 
an evening song. Mr. Kipling writes of the people and the 
song : 

“Hear now a song — a song of broken interludes — 

A song of little cunning ; of a singer nothing worth. 

Through the naked words and mean 
May ye see the truth between 

As the singer knew and touched it in the ends of all the Earth !” 42 


42 Rudyard Kipling, “A Song of the English,” Collected Verse, p. 84. 


QUESTIONS AND THEMES. 


QUESTIONS ON ENGLISH RHETORIC. 


1 ,. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE SUBJECT. 
Define rhetoric and ar 


I. Definition.*^-!. Define rhetoric and anjjblify the definition. 2. 
plain that mere adaptation is not rhetoric. J3. Quote and explain, 

. “But when he spake and cheer’d his Table Round.” 


Ex- 


II. Personality. — 1. Define Self, Personality, Individuality. 2. Con- 
trast the Buddhist and the Christian views of personality. 3. State 
Herbert Spencer’s formula of Evolution. 4. Explain how the develop- 
ment of the individual illustrates the evolutionary process. 5. Explain 
how mental attitude towards personality conditions the motive of ex- 
pression. 


III. The Motive. — 1. Concerning naturalness of expression. 2. Quote 
Edmund Spenser’s statement about the motive. 3. How does Words- 
worth describe the motive. 4. Explain “Will o’ the Mill.” 

IV. Style. — 1. Explain Buffon’s saying about style. 2. State Taine’s 
motive in his “English Literature.” 3. Explain Oratio imago animi. 
4. Explain how theme-work is dry and uninteresting only so far as it 
fails to be rhetorical. 


V. The Fine Art oe Rhetoric. — 1. Discuss rhetoric as a fine art. 2. 
How a foreign language as a means of self-expression differs from the 
mother tongue /^T Discuss the mother tongue as a universal mode of 
sejf-expression: 


./ 


VI. The Problem. -|j^i. State the five factors in self-expression and 
show that they involve. grammar, logic, psychology, and ethics. 2. How 
the word serves the ©ther factors in self-expression. 3. Discuss the 
problem of clearness /and state Quintilian’s standard. 4. Discuss the 
problem of force., 5yDiscuss the problem of beauty. G. Compare and 
contrast the qualifies of clearness, force, and beauty. 7. Quote Ruskin 
on Moderation anjd explain its relation to beauty. 

VII. The Primary Modes oe Style. — 1. State the two primary modes 
of style and explain the difference between them. 2. Explain the pri- 
ority of poetry. ,%jQuote Shakespeare on the making of poetry. 4. Ex- 
plain Milton’s characterization of poetry as “simple, sensuous and pas- 
sionate.” 5. State the prime quality and method of prose. 6., S tate 
Herbert Spencer’s theory of language as mechanism. 


VIII. The Secondary Modes of Style. — 1. State the secondary modes 
and explain the principle of classification. 2. Discuss the creative sig- 
nificance of relations in all composition. 3. Discuss the order of study- 
ing the secondary modes. 4. On the congeniality of narration. 5. On 
the difficulties of description. 6. On the metaphysical character of ex- 

(291) 


292 


position. 7. On the prevalence of exposition. 8. How argumentation 
involves conviction and persuasion. 9. Discuss the mingling of the sec- 
ondary modes in literature. 

IX. The Elements oe Composition. — 1. State the elements of com- 
position and their functions. 


X. The Composition. — 1. State the problems that center in the com- 


ry composition. 3. 
and formulation of 
this book from the 


position. 2. Discuss the mental visions of liter 
Explain the three processes of invention, selection 
the plan, and illustrate these by the development o 
definition. 

XI. The Paragraph. — 1. Define the paragraph. State the function 
of the paragraph. 3. State the usefulness of the paragraph for practice- 
writing. 4. State and explain the three principles of paragraph struc- 
ture. 


XII. The Sentence. — 1. Define the sentence and state its function. 
2. Distinguish the functions of the sentence and the paragraph. 3. Ex- 
plain the principle “Words and sentences are subjects of revision; para- 
graphs and whole compositions are subjects of prevision.” 4. Discuss 
the sentence as the realm of good use. 5. Discuss the sentence as the 
realm of style in literature and in your own literary composition. 6. 
Quote Holmes’ sentiment from Sir Thomas Browne and explain its ap- 
plication in the sentence. 

XIII. The Word. — 1. Define the word and explain its conventional 
character. 2. Discuss the occasional divergence between conventional 
and literal meanings. 3. State the three fields of etymological study. 
4. Discuss the value of scholarly appreciation of Latin derivatives. 5. 
The importance of knowing the life-history of words. 6. State Ruskin’s 
study of “blind mouths.” 

XIV. The Syllable. — 1. Define the syllable and discuss its function. 
2. Quote the Lark figure. 3. Discuss the effect of the Mother Goose 
melodies. 4. Discuss musical quality in hymns and in all literary com- 
position. 5. Define and discuss tone-unity. ^6. jS tate a tone-scale and 
explain the construction of a tone-chart. 


XV. The Making oe a Writer. — 1. Explain the quotation from “The 
Compleat Angler” as applicable to writing. 2. Discuss character. 3. 
Discuss experience. 4. Discuss technic. 5. Explain Carlyle in the pas- 
sage, “Thou there, the thing for thee to do.” 6. Quote the lines from 
Kipling’s “Explorer” and explain the application to the thinker. 7. Dis- 
cuss daily themes. 8. How bad habits in writing can be changed. 9. 
Concerning revision and the art to omit. 10. Explain the fine art motive 
in English composition. 


CHAPTER II. 

PROSE. 

I. The Literal Mode— i. State and distinguish the primary modes 
of style. 2. Discuss essential and formal in prose and in poetry. 3. Dis- 
cuss prose. 4. Discuss clearness and force as attributes of prose. 5. 
Discuss truth as the objective of prose. 6. How prose gets rhythm. 


293 


7 - State the adjectives used in characterizing Plato’s prose. 8. State 
Harrison’s sources of pure English. 

II. Standard Prose— i. Show that the trend of historical change in 
prose has been in the line of least resistance and greatest effectiveness. 
2. Describe the circle of adaptation. 3. Describe a diagram of adapta- 
tion illustrating Elizabethan prose. 4. Describe a diagram of adapta- 
tion illustrating Eighteenth Century prose. 5. Explain the utility mo- 
tive in prose. 6. What were the aims of Addison and Steele’s Spec- 
tator? 7. How would the Spectator be likely to influence the form of 
prose? 8. State the standards and types and explain how they arise. 

III. The Colloquial Standard. — 1. How the motive of the colloquial 
standard is momentariness. 2. Discuss spoken colloquy. 3. State the 
means of expression other than language in spoken colloquy. 4. On 
impressionism in colloquial prose. 5. How iteration makes fleeting im- 
pressions permanent. 6. On' abruptness in colloquial prose. 7. Explain 
hyperbole in colloquial prose. 8. Explain the passage from the Book of 
Ruth as illustrating colloquial language at its best. 

IV. The Literary Standard. — 1. How the motive of the literary 
standard is permanency. 2. Explain the relation of the Self and the 
Other-Self in the literary standard. 3. How the characteristic factor 
in the literary standard is the Thought. 4. On the atmosphere of lit- 
erary prose. 5. On the solidarity of literary prose. 6. On the things 
that literary prose excludes. 7. On the epic movement of literary 
prose. 8. How “The Deep-Sea Cables” illustrates the realm of deep 
thinking. 

V. The Oratorical Standard. — 1. Explain the composite character 
of the oratorical standard. 2. Show from the opening sentences of 
some oration that the orator at the beginning speaks with colloquial 
naturalness. 3. Show how the orator leads, his hearers into the depths 
of thought. 4. State something in an oration that is a vision like fire 
in the night. 5. Explain the hush that falls on an assembly in the midst 
of oratory. 6. How the oratorical standard differs from the colloquial 
standard. . 7. Show that the oratorical standard is fundamentally collo- 
quial. 8. On the conventionality of oratory. . 9. State the themes of 
some great oratiohs advocating conservative principles. 10. On the sim- 
plicity of oratory. 11. How oratory is formally intellective. 12. How 
oratory is the extreme manifestation of self-expression. 

VI. The Intellectual Type. — J the characteristics of the intel- 

lectual type. 2. The impressiveness of truth in the intellectual type. 

VII. The Impassioned Type. — 1. How impassioned prose develops 
through a realization of personal interest. 2. Discuss colloquial traits 
in impassioned prose. 3. Explain the deep harmonies of impassioned 
prose. 4. State how the passage from Burke on the Queen of France 
illustrates the impassioned type. 

VIII. The Imaginative Type.— i. How the imaginative type arises. 
2. Discuss sensuousness. 3. How suggestion is an appeal to individual 
experience. 4. Explain the imaginative power of the selection from 
“The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table.” 5 -’ Explain the imaginative 
elements in the selection from “The English Mail Coach.” 6. Analyze 
the imaginative power of the Stevenson selection. 7. State your judg- 
ment of the relative usefulness to the imagination of each of the five' 
senses. 


294 


IX. Freedom under Law. — i. How the intellectual, impassioned, and 
ii~.aginati e types merge and change in literature. 2. Discuss the free- 
dom of prose. ^3. D iscuss the law of prose. 4. How the great currents 
follow truth. 5/Discuss tone in prose. 


CHAPTER III. 

POETRY. 

I. The Genesis oe Poetry.— t. Define poetry. ^2. Explain the con- 
geniality of poetry. 3. Discuss tHe correlative nature of spirit and mat- 
ter. 4. Explain the beauty of the works of God as correlation of spirit 
and matter. 5. Explain the sword Excalibur as a parable of poetry. 

II. Beauty. — 1. Define and discuss beauty. 2. Explain how “poetry 
was all written before time was.” 3. The relation of beauty and truth. 

4. Explain Endymion I, 1-13. 

III. The Poet. — 1. Explain Poeta nascitur non. fit. 2. How the poet 
is the interpreter between science and philosophy. 3. Distinguish sen- 
suous and sensual. 4. Explain “Merlin and the Gleam.” 5. State the 
function and the importance of the imagination. 6. How character is 
affected by imagination. 7. Discuss “Art for art’s sake.” 8. Explain 
Kipling’s “Tomlinson.” 9. Explain Tennyson’s “Palace of Art.” 10. 

Explain poetic experience. 11. State Wordsworth’s view of- the poetic 
gift and the obstacles to expression. 12. Discuss the child’s gift of the 
vision, faculty, and spirit of poetry. 13. Discuss nature as the teacher 
of the poet. 14. Explain Peter Bell’s relation to nature. 15. Quote 
“Thanks to the human heart.” 16. State the four ways of cultivating 
appreciation of poetry. 17. Quote “Flower in the crannied wall.” 18. 

Explain how “Flower in the crannied wall” illustrates the four elements 
of appreciation of poetry. 

IV. , The Language oe Poetry. — 1. Quote and explain Tennyson’s 
“The word of the Poet.” 2. Quote Ruskin “The object in all art is not 
to inform but to suggest.” 3. State the poetic elements in the passage, 

“So all day long the noise of battle roll’d.” 

4. State Spenser’s thought about beauty and apply this to poetry. 5. 

State the five phases of the poetic process. 6. State and explain the 
allegory of the “silent city.” 

V. Figures oe Speech. — 1. Define a figure of speech. State and 

define the three classes of figures. 3. State the summary of figures of 
speech. * 

VI. The Correlative Figures. — 1. Define and explain the correlative 
figures. 2. Distinguish comparison and simile by means of the factors. 

3. Discuss comparison and illustrate it by examples. 4. Discuss simile 
and illustrate it by examples. 

VII. The Subject-Figures. — 1. Define and explain the subject-figures. 

2. Discuss metaphor. 3. State three things to observe in the use of 
metaphors. 4. Discuss personification. 5.. Discuss combined metaphor 
and personification. 6. Define and classify emotional figures. 7. Define 
emotional figures of the Self and explain exclamation, hyperbole, itera- 


295 

’ vision, apostrophe. 8. Define emotional figures of the Other-Self 
and explain interrogation and irony. 9. Define emotional figures of the 
thought and explain antithesis and climax. 

VIII. The Image-Figures. — 1. Define image-figures. 2. Discuss al- 
legory. 3. Explain the parable. 4. Define and distinguish metonymy 
and synecdoche. 5. Quote “Then would they sigh/’ and explain the 
figures. 6. Give examples of synecdoche. 7. Define epithet and give 
some examples. 8. How nouns, adjectives, verbs, and adverbs are dis- 
tinct types of image-figures. 9. Discuss the image-figures in the pas- 
sage, “We know that gentians grow on the Alps.” 

IX. Figurative Quality. — 1. On the naturalness of figurative quality. 
jE^On the tonal relation, of figures of speech. 3. Discuss the diffusive- 
ness of figurative quality. 4. How the ratio of element to quality 
changes. 5. Discuss the passionateness of figurative quality. 

X. Metre. — ixDistinguish metre and rhythm. 2. Illustrate the con- 
ventional nature of metre by the Spenserian stanza. 3. Explain rhythm 
by the phrases of the Spenserian stanza. 4. Explain the usefulness of 
metre in creating stress points. 

XI. Metrical Elements. — 1. State the metrical elements. 2. Discuss 
the syllable. 3. Discuss the foot. 4. Discuss the verse. 5. State the 
function of the stanza. 6. Discuss the quatrain.' 7. Discuss the Spen- 
serian stanza. 8. Discuss the sonnet. 9. Explain Milton’s sonnet “On 
His Blindness” as illustrating the Italian sonnet., 10. Explain the Eng- 
lish sonnet of Shakespeare. 

XII. Types of Poetry. — 1. ^gtate and explain the types of poetry. 

XIII. The Epic TypE. — 1. State Dryden’s characterization of epic 
poetry. 2. Discuss tne epic . dignity of “Paradise Lost.” 3. Name nar- 
rative and descriptive poems showing the wide range of epic poetry. 

XIV. The Lyric Type.— i. State the characteristics of the lyric type. 
2. Explain the comparison of the lyric to a skylark. 3. Describe the 
Lyric group in the Corridor of Lyric Poetry. 4. Name lyrics showing 
the wide range of lyric poetry. 5. Discuss lyric quality in the Psalms 
of David. 

XV. The Dramatic Type. — 1. Discuss the drama. 2. Quote Shakes- 
peare, “Invest me in my motley,” and explain it. 3. Explain why the 
drama is not didactic. 4. Distinguish comedy and tragedy. 

XVI. The Gleam. — 1. State what the “Gleam” is. 2. Explain “God 
is the perfect poet.” 3. Quote “The heavens declare the glory of God.” 
4. State what the light of poetry is. 5. Quote “Not of the sunlight.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

NARRATION. 

I. Narration. — 1. Define narration and explain “time-relations” and 
“mode of the imagination.” 2. Explain the four requirements — “whole, 
quick, simple, and sensuous.” 3. Discuss the narrative efficiency of cer- 
tain kinds of words. 4. Discuss contrast, climax, and suggestion as 


296 

affecting narrative movement. 5 * Discuss the relation of emotional and 
intellectual interest in narration. 

II. Elements oe Narrative Interest. — 1. Explain the three processes 
in the study of plot. 2. Discuss character interest defining realism and 
idealism, static and dynamic, goodness and naturalness. 3. Discuss 
thought-interest and state what it includes. 4. Explain the content of 
style. 5. State the plan for studying narration. 

III. Plot Analysis. — 1. Explain the difference between a simple and 
a compound plot. 2. State and explain the plot-analysis of “Kidnapped.” 
4. State and explain the plot-analysis of “David Copperfield.” 4. State 
and explain the plot-analysis of “The East Days of Pompeii.” 5. Ex- 
plain the plot of “King Eear.” 

IV. Plot Synthesis. — 1. Discuss the elements of synthesis that con- 
tribute to unity. 2. Discuss the synthesis of “Kidnapped.” 3. Discuss 
the synthesis of “‘David Copperfield.” 4. Discuss the synthesis of “The 
East Days of Pompeii.” 

V. Plot Emphasis. — 1. Discuss the function of emphasis. 2. Explain 
primary stress, secondary stress, and tone, and illustrate these from 
“Romeo and Juliet.” 

VI. Primary Stress. — 1. Discuss the primary stress of “Kidnapped.” 
2. Discuss the primary stress of “Robinson Crusoe.” 3. Discuss pri- 
mary stress in the Short Story. 

VII. Secondary Stress. — 1. Explain secondary stress. 2. Discuss 
plot-effects. 3. Discuss character-effects. 4. Discuss thought-effects. 

VIII. Tone. — 1. Discuss tone-intensity. 2. Discuss tone-color. 3. 
Explain the construction of a tone-color chart to show the tone succes- 
sion of secondary stress. 4. Explain the tone-color of “As You Eike 
It,” “Othello,” “Antony and Cleopatra,” and “Hamlet.” 

IX. Character Treatment. — 1. Discuss realism and idealism. 2. Ex- 
plain static and dynamic treatment. 3. Discuss dynamic treatment in 
“Romeo and Juliet.” 

X. Characteristics. — 1. Explain the two principles of goodness and 
naturalness. 2. Discuss goodness. 3. Fielding on the portrayal of 
vices, and his three statements concerning vices introduced into his own 
work. 4. Discuss naturalness. 5. What Thackeray says of his rela- 
tions with his characters. 6. The naturalness of Hamlet. 7. Discuss 
consistency of individual character. 8. Discuss consistency of the cast 
of characters. 

XI. Thought-Interest. — 1. How the spread of education widens the 
thought-interest in narratives. 2. State the field of study in thought- 
interest. 3. Discuss the theme. 4. Discuss the philosophy. 5. Discuss 
the motive. 6. Explain the personal phases of thought-interest appear- 
ing in beauty, picturesqueness, wit, humor, realism, romanticism. 7. 
Discuss spirituality. 8. Explain the elements of thought-interest in 
“Drowne’s Wooden Image.” 

XII. Elements and Qualities oe Style. — 1. State the problems of 
narrative composition. 2. Discuss finding the story. 3. State Steven- 


297 

son’s three ways of writing a story. 4. Give examples of the three kinds 
01 stories. 5* Discuss the power to find stories. 6. Discuss the method 
of the story. 7. Discuss the author’s point of view in Fielding, in 
lhackeray, in Jane Austen. 8. Name novels that illustrate the actor’s 
point of view. 9 Discuss the details of the story. 10. Explain the first 
paragraph of “The Fall of the House of Usher.” n. Discuss life in 
narration. 12. State the thing that is wonderful in “The Last Days of 
Pompeii.” 

XIII. Theory oe the Short Story.— i. State the theory of the short 
story. 2. State Poe’s views of the prose tale. 3. Discuss the American 
short story. 4. Discuss the Book of Esther. 

XIV. The Novel. — 1. How the novel is a microcosm of human life. 
2. Fielding’s precepts on the art of novel-writing. 3. Fielding’s four 
qualifications for the novelist. 


CHAPTER V. 

** DESCRIPTION. 

I. Description. — 1. Define description. 2. Likenesses between de- 
scription and narration. 3. Unlikenesses between description and nar- 
ration. 4. In the passage “The Sweetheart lay in the Cove” state the 
effects that make it description. 5. State the problems in description. 

II. Vision. — 1. State the problem of vision. 2. Discuss the pictur- 
esque and the power to see it. 3. Discuss elements of vision in Ruskin’s 
description of Europe seen by a bird in migration. 4. Explain the 
vision of a mental state in the line, 

“Look I so pale. Lord Dorset, as the rest?” 

5. Explain the vision in Ben Jonson’s tribute to Bacon. 6. Interpret the 
following as illustrating the problem of vision: 

“As when a painter poring on a face, 

Divinely thro’ all hindrance finds the man 
Behind it.” 

7. State from your own experience some good subjects for description. 

III. Point oe View. — 1. State the problem of point of view. 2. Dis- 
cuss synthetic effects. 3. Discuss the object that makes the picture pos- 
sible. 4. Explain how _ point of view in description involves . fixing, 
maintaining, and changing direction. 5. Show that point of view in- 
volves distance and fixes the scale of description. 6. Discuss point of 
view in the description from “Adam Bede.” 7. Discuss point of view 
for descriptions of the City of Washington. 8. Discuss point of view 
in the psalm, “Beautiful for situation.” 

IV. Selection. — 1. State the problem of selection showing how a few 
things do the work. 2. How the winnowing influences of time apply the 
principle of selection. 3. Explain Tommy’s letter. 4. Discuss the power 
of suggestion. 5. Explain how the reason may weaken the imagination 
in description. 6. Explain a sketch-book method of practice. 


298 

V. Things as They Are. — 1. How in description the imagination 
gives the writer a vision. 2. How true description is not arbitrary at 
all. 3. Explain the sense of obligation that gives moral dignity to writ- 
ing. 4. Explain Kipling’s poem — “When Earth’s Last Picture is 
Painted.” k 


CHAPTER VI. 

' EXPOSITION. 

I. Things That Are Not Seen.— i. Define exposition. 2. Define 
metaphysical. 3. Explain how exposition may deal with all subjects. 
4. Explain exposition as a mode of pure intelligence. 5. How the dig- 
nity of the infinite attaches to exposition. 6. Discuss exposition as self- 
expression. 7. Define thinking, thought, sense-perception, mental image, 
concept. 8. How reasoning is based on relations. 9. Explain how the 
universal and the particular grow in the process of reasoning.) 10. State 
Wordsworth’s account of the growth of his own mind. 11. Quote 
Browning on what it is to know. 12. State some attributes and proper- 
ties of the things of exposition. 

II. Abstract Thinking. — 1. Explain why abstract thinking is hard. 
2. Quote Emerson on abstract thinking. 3. Discuss incarnation. 4. 
State the references to matter in “In Memoriam.” 5. Quote from the 
psalm concerning man’s dominion. 6. State what Browning says about 
mind and matter. 7. Define ambition. . 8. State how abstraction is a 
means to an end. 9. Discuss the incentives of abstraction. 

III. Discipline. — 1. Explain “The Ship that Found Herself.” 2. 
Discuss clearness. 3. On the knowledge of objects. 4. Discuss sense- 
perception. 5. Practical aspects of clear thinking. 6. Discuss strength. 
7. Explain “Thinking without living is dead.” 8. State the thought 
quoted from the essay on “Self-Reliance.” 9. Explain the taking of 
San Juan Hill as a parable of thinking. 10. Discuss freedom as disci- 
pline. 11. Discuss the scope and limits of authority and quote what 
Bacon says. 12. Discuss conventionality and quote Emerson and Brown- 
ing. 13. Discuss consistency. 14. State Emerson’s thought, “Is it not 
the chief disgrace in the world not to be a unit?” 15. On present foes 
of freedom. 16. Explain Emerson’s allegory, “O friend, never strike 
sail to a fear. Come into port greatly or sail with God the seas.” 17. 
Explain the allegory of a laboratory in which the chemist is himself the 
very quintessence of the alchemy. 

.^ IV. Types 9E Exposition. — 1. Explain Lord Bacon’s two distribu- 
tions pf: learning. 2. Define and distinguish substantive and adjective 
exposition. 

V. Substantive Exposition. — 1. Discuss substantive exposition as 
imparting and cultivating the knowledge of substantive reality. 2. Ex- 
plain analysis as the substantive process. 3. State the importance of a 
true principle of analysis. 4. Discuss logical analysis. 5. Discuss liter- 
ary analysis. 6. Explain the substantive character of the passage on 
the tendencies of the age of Burke. 7. Explain the substantive charac- 
ter of Huxley’s introduction. 8. Discuss the practical importance of 
substantive exposition. 9. Explain how substantive exposition naturally 
acquires a quality of passionateness. 10. Explain the passage. “Who 
hath woe?” 


299 


VI. Adjective Exposition.— i. Discuss adjective exposition as a 
means of discovering substantive reality by means of phenomena. 2. 
Explain synthesis as the adjective process. 3. Discuss the disciplinary 
value of adjective processes. 4. Explain how Davy’s investigation illus- 
trates the method of adjective exposition. 5. Explain the adjective 
character of the passage from De Quincey. 6. Explain definition as an 
adjectiye process. 7. Discuss the adjective processes in the definition, 
Rhetoric is self-expression through language. 

i^VII. Organic Thinking. — 1. Explain the inseparable character of 
substantive and adjective processes. 2. Quote and explain the lines 
beginning — 

“Then felt I like some watcher of the skies,” 
as illustrating organic thinking. 

VIII. The Text-Book. — 1. Define the text-book. 2. Explain the ad- 
jective character of the text-book. 3. Discuss the plan of this text-book 
as illustrating adjective exposition. 

IX. The Monograph. — 1. Define the monograph. 2. Explain the ad- 
jective character of the monograph. 3. Discuss the monograph as sci- 
entific. 4. Discuss the simple unity of the monograph. 5. Discuss the 
formal character of the monograph. 

X. The Treatise. — 1. Define the treatise. 2. Explain the expository 
character of the treatise. 3. State Bacon’s thoughts about his treatise. 
4. Give examples of the treatise. 5. Describe Gibbon’s completion of 
the “Decline and Fall.” 

XI. The Essay. — 1. Explain the substantive character of the essay. 
2. Describe the motive of the Spectator. 3. Give examples of essays. 
4. Discuss the field of the essay. 

XII. The Thinkers. — 1. Complete the quotation from Wordsworth, 

“Where the statue stood 
Of Newton” * * * * 

2. Describe the “Grand Trunk Road” as an allegory of exposition. 3. 
How exposition is the groundwork of all the modes of prose. 4. How 
literature ministers alike to the philosopher and to the scientist. 5. 
Tell Mendeleeff’s dedication. 6. Tell Carlyle’s reflection on the Empire 
of Silence. 


CHAPTER VII. 

ARGUMENTATION. 

I. The OthER-SeeF. — 1. Define argumentation. 2. Explain how all 
the modes of style contribute to argumentation. 3. Explain how the 
appeal to motive underlies argumentation. 4. Explain how truth and 
beauty are the ideals of argumentation. 5. Explain how argumentation 
begins with a conception of individuality. 6. Discuss solitude. 7* Ex- 
plain how argumentation overcomes solitude. 

II. Phenomena of Consciousness.— t. Explain the three phases of 
every state of consciousness. 2. State these phases in the effect of the 


300 


First Bunker Hill Oration. 3. Discuss the knowledge phase of con- 
sciousness. 4. State Bacon’s thought about the relation of knowledge 
and charity. 5. State Bacon’s three limitations upon knowledge. 6. 
Discuss the cultivation of accuracy. 7. Explain the importance of 
thinking in paragraphs. 8. Discuss the feeling phase of consciousness. 
9. Discuss the cultivation of feeling. 10. Discuss the will phase of 
consciousness, n. Explain the importance of portfolio decisions of the 
will. 12. Discuss meditation as the quest for wisdom. 13. Explain 
“II Penseroso” as a song of meditation. 14. Explain the meaning of 
Pegasus. 15. Explain imagination as a consistent constructive force. 

III. Kinds of Argumentation. — 1. Concerning the scope of argu- 
mentation. 2. State the kinds of argumentation. 

IV. Letter-Writing. — 1. Discuss the burden of the mail. 2. Explain 
letter-writing as a form of argumentation. 3. Define the letter and state 
its plan of structure. 4. State and explain the three kinds of letters. 
5. State some requirements of good use in letter-writing. 6. Discuss 
handwriting. 7. On the serious consequences of mistakes in correspond- 
ence. 8. Why the kinds of letters should be kept distinct. 9. On the 
habit of answering. 10. Discuss personal letters. 11. How the nature 
of the occasion is the key to the personal letter. 12. De Quincey’s 
opinion of the best English style. 13. Discuss social letters. 14. State 
and explain the forms and the extreme conventionality of social letters. 
15. Discuss business letters. 16. Discuss the influence in business letters 
of a heart of courtesy. 17. Rules for business letters. 

V. Journalism. — 1. Show by the factors that journalism is argu- 
mentation. 2. Explain the evolution of the public as the Other-Self. 3. 
Discuss the occasion as a factor in journalism. 4. The extent and im- 
portance of journalism. 5. Define news. 6. Discuss “unusual” and 
“public concern” as elements in news. 7. Explain how news-writing by 
selection and grouping is argumentation. 8. Explain the typical struc- 
ture of a news story. 9. State the practical utility of the structure of 
news stories. 10. Define and discuss editorials. 11. Explain editorial 
writing as substantive exposition. 12. Discuss the question >. of signed 
editorials. 13. Discuss the specific value to a reporter of the following 
qualifications : Memory, arrurarv efficiency, geniality, -character. 14. 



Discuss the first stage of Amer- 


Discuss the preparation 


ican journalism. 16. Discuss the second stage. 17. Discuss the third 
stage. 18. State Mr. Dana’s code. 19. D^cuss the fourth stage. 20. 
Discuss what the fifth stage is likely to be. I 21. Explain the relation of 
the business and the professional side of The modern newspaper. 22. 
Discuss journalism as a profession. 23. State Mr. Pulitzer’s view of 
the College of Journalism and the journalist as a publicist. 

VI. Conversation. — 1. Explain the word conversation. ^ How con- 
versation involves kindness, truth, and manners. 3. Discuss kindness as 
a motive in conversation. 4. Show that other-mindedness makes conver- 
sation a form of argumentation. 5. State Emerson’s thought about the 
heart of love. 6. Discuss truth as a motive in conversation. 7. How 
truth dignifies conversation and begets self-respect. 8. Emerson’s 
thought about stateliness. 9. How conversation crystallizes thinking. 
10. Holmes on the usefulness of conversation. nX- The educational 
function of conversation in college life. 12. Discuss the origin of man- . 
ners. 13. Characterize Palladius. 14. Explain the Arcadian landscape 
as a parable of manners. 15. Explain the following characteristics of 
good conversation: spontaneity, colloquial traits, purpose, enthusiasm. 


/ 


3or 


1 6 ; State four ways in which good conversation affects the Self. 17. 
Discuss integrity of motive in conversation. 18. How themes of con- 
versation grow. 19. Discuss the Weather Phase. 20. Discuss the News 
Phase. 21. Discuss the Expository Phase. 22. Discuss the Social Phase. 
23. N George Herbert’s precepts for conversation. ^24. Summary of the 
precepts of Lord Chesterfield. 25. Samuel Johnson’s method and his 
analysis of the elements. 26. Holmes on “real talkers” and his rule in 
conversation. 

VII. Teaching. — 1. Show that teaching is a form of argumentation. 
2. Discuss personal relations in teaching. 3. Discuss the call to teach. 
4. Discuss teachableness. 5. The meaning of “Put yourself in his place.” 
6. The teacher and his subject. 7. The basis in character. 8. The 
teacher’s hypothesis of the student. 9. The work of teaching. 10. What 
teaching is. 11. The things that the teacher must forget. 12. Discuss 
the particular truth and the universal harmony. 13. The teacher’s in- 
fluence. 14. Explain the building of Camelot as a parable of teaching. 
15. The vital character of the teaching of Arnold of Rugby. 16. The 
teaching of Doctor Huntington. 17. The burden of the Builder. 

VIII. Oratory. — 1. Explain how oratory has the elemental strength 
of argumentation. 2. State the five kinds of oratory. 

IX. The Assembly. — 1. Name four of the world’s great orators. 2. 
Name ten American orators. 3. Why deliberative oratory will never 
disappear frorq assemblies. 4. How the conditions of the assembly pro- 
mote strong, high thinking: 5. How the assembly speech is generally 
substantive exposition. 6. State something of Patrick Henry’s speech 
in the Virginia Convention. 

X. The Court oe Law. — 1. Discuss the oratory of the bar. 2. Dis- 
cuss the influence of the assumption of innocence. 3. Explain how the 
jury is the Other-Self. 4. How adjective processes of exposition enter 
into the address to the jury. 5. Explain the nature of Webster’s speech 
on the murder of Captain Joseph White. 

XI. The Debate. — 1. Define debate. 2. Discuss truth as the objective 
in debate. 3. Why there are two sides to every question. 4. Concern- 
ing real questions. 5. How debate is severely logical. 6. Discuss mag- 
nanimity. 7. Discuss burden of proof. 8. Discuss the formal character 
of debate. 

XII. The Pulpit. — 1. Discuss the pulpit and preaching. 2. State the 
function of preaching. 3. Why preaching is fundamentally substantive 
exposition. 4. Explain the substantive character of Paul’s sermon at 
Athens. 5. Explain the teaching motive in the words' sermon and 
homily, and in the substantive structure. 6. State and explain a classi- 
fication qf sermons. 7. State and explain the classification of Doctor 
Broadus/ 8. How the sermon as a form of argumentation modifies the 
expository structure. 9. State Beecher’s advice to think about the 
people. 

XIII. The Special Occasion.— i. Discuss the oratory of the special 
occasion. 2. Explain the special occasion as a place of vision. 3. State 
the, correlation of reason and truth. 4- Quote Senator Lodge on the 
personal power of Webster. 5. Cite notable examples of different kinds 
of occasional addresses. 6. Discuss the Gettysburg Address. 


302 


XIV. Eloquence. — i. How the spirit of oratory manifests itself. 2. 
The eloquence of Doctor Talmage. 3. The drum-beat of England. 4. 
How eloquence is supreme self-assertion. 5. The parable of Arthur’s 
shield. 6. Webster on eloquence. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE COMPOSITION. 

I. English Quality. — 1. Name and define the four factors in Eng- 
lish quality. 2. State the English racial elements* 3. Discuss Saxon 
characteristics. 4. Saxon quality in old English literature. 5. Discuss 
Celtic characteristics. 6. Celtic quality in early English literature. 7. 
Quote and explain what John Richard Green says about Shakespeare. 
8. Discuss the influence of place on mental development. 9. How cli- 
mate and natural scenery have affected English literature. 10. How 
epochs of civilization have affected English literature. 11. Discuss in- 
dividualism in English literature. 12. How English literature illustrates 
the definition — “self-expression through language.” 

II. The Field oe Strategy. — 1. Survey of the field of strategy in the 
planning of the composition. 2. How the conditioning factors are not 
obstacles .but opportunities. 3. Discuss the problem of the primary 
modes. 4. The problem of the secondary modes. 5. How individuality 
conditions composition. 6. State the thought of James Freeman Clarke, 
“Let every one be himself.” 

III. Principles oe Structure. — 1. State the principles of structure 
and their relation to clearness, force, and beauty. 2. Discuss adapta- 
tion. 3. Discuss organization. 4. Discuss characterization. 

IV. The Plan. — 1. Explain how clear thinking ends in a plan. 2. 
Discuss the importance of a plan. 3. How the subject, the theme, and 
the title are different phases of the same thing. 4. Discuss the theme 
and show that it is a little essay in exposition. 5. Discuss the title and 
show that it is a form of argumentation. 

V. The Introduction. — 1. Define the introduction. 2. Discuss the 
form of the introduction as simple, distinct, brief, personal. 3. Explain 
the function reddere auditores benevolos, attentos, dociles. 4. Discuss 
the first function — well-disposed toward the Self. 5. Discuss the second 
function — attentive to the thought. 6. Discuss the third function — 
teachable. 

VI. The Development. — 1. How the composition is like an arrow. 
2. Define the development. 3. Discuss “There are things enough to 
say.” 4. Discuss “You should know the thing you wish to say.” ^'5. 
Distinguish clear and distinct. 6. State the problem of understanding 
our feelings and illustrate it from De Quincey. 7. On the importance 
of doing your own thinking first. 8.. Discuss “You should say the thing 
you wish to say.” 9. Discuss association of ideas explaining the laws 
of association. 10. Explain inductive-deductive reasoning, n. How 
the process of thinking like seed-time, and harvest is a circle. 12. How 
self-expression makes the circle of thinking a process of evolution. 13. 
Quote the last stanza of “The Chambered Nautilus.” 


303 


VII. The Conclusion. — i. State the function of the conclusion. 2. 
How the conclusion is like rope-making. 3. Explain why the conclu- 
sion is imaginative and emotional. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE PARAGRAPH. 

I. The Theory oe the Paragraph. — 1. Define the paragraph. 2. Ex- 
plain how the paragraph function came from the sentence. 3. Explain 
the elemental form of the paragraph. 

II. Good Form in Paragraphs. — 1. Why good form in paragraphs is 
important. 2. Explain the importance of the beginning and the end of 
paragraphs. 

III. Kind oe Paragraphs. — 1. How the secondary modes of style de- 
velop different kinds of paragraphs. 2. State the classification of para- 
graphs. 

IV. Narrative Paragraphs. — 1. Discuss epic paragraphs. 2. Explain 
the paragraph from “Rip Van Winkle.” 3. Explain the paragraph from 
“Vanity Fair.” 4. Discuss dramatic paragraphs. 5. Explain the para- 
graphs from “Pride and Prejudice.” 

V. Descriptive Paragraphs. — 1. Discuss pictural paragraphs. 2. Ex- 
plain the paragraph describing the afterglow of the sunset. 3. Discuss 
panoramic paragraphs. 4. Explain the panoramic character of the two 
paragraphs concerning the old ships and Noank. 

VI. Expositive Paragraphs. — 1. Discuss substantive paragraphs. 2. 
Explain the paragraph from the Second Inaugural Address. 3. Discuss 
adjective paragraphs. 4. Explain the paragraph from Wendell Phillips. 

5. Discuss composite paragraphs. 6. Explain the paragraph, “A house 
divided against itself.” 


CHAPTER X. 

THE SENTENCE. 

I. The Unit oe Style. — 1. Define the sentence. 2. State the suppo- 
sition about style appearing as light. 3. How the light never appears 
until the circle is complete. 4. No two sentences shine alike. 5. The 
spectrum of light in the sentences of the same writer remains the same. 

6. The spectrum of light in sentences of different writers is different. 

7. How the coast-lights illustrate the invariableness of style. 

II. Theories oe the Sentence. — 1. State the change in the sentence 
in the eighteenth century. 2. State the thought-progression theory. 3. 
State Milton’s opinion of the short sentence and discuss the sentence 
quoted from the “Areopagitica.” 4. Discuss Elizabethan sentences. 5. 
State the style theory of the sentence and explain its development. 6. 
Compare and contrast the two theories of the sentence. 

III. Sentence Length.— i. State the rule for sentence-length and 


304 


how it safeguards sentence-unity. 2. Explain the Elizabethan motive 
of silent thought. 3. Explain the eighteenth century motive of conver- 
sation. 4. Explain the nineteenth century motive of style. 

IV. Sentence-Structure. — 1. Discuss sentence structure. 2. Explain 
the table of sentence statistics. 3. Discuss loose structure. 4. Discuss 
periodic structure. 5. Discuss balanced structure. 6. Distinguish man- 
nerism and style. 

V. The Rhetorical Clause. — 1. Define the rhetorical clause. 2. Ex- 
plain the function of the rhetorical clause. 

VI. Punctuation. — 1. Explain how punctuation is a factor in style. 
2. Discuss the period. 3. Discuss the colon. 4. Discuss the semicolon. 
5. Discuss the comma. 6. How punctuation is a sign of the times. 

VII. Evolution. — 1. State the theory of evolution in sentences. 2. 
Explain the Elizabethan sentence structure. 3. How the thought-pro- 
gression motive tended to keep Elizabethan sentences homogeneous. 4. 
Discuss Stevenson’s rule to be infinitely various. 5. Show that the 
modem sentence is definite. 6. Show that the modern sentence is co- 
herent. 7. Discuss the modern sentence as “a definite coherent hetero- 
geneity.” 

VIII. Sentence-Studies. — 1. Discuss Carlyle’s characteristic sen- 
tences. 2. Discuss the style of Jeremy Taylor in the sentence about the 
Escurial. 3. The first sentence in “Pride and Prejudice.” 4. Charac- 
terize Jane Austen’s style. 5. Discuss the sentence from Burke. 6. The 
style of Macaulay. 7. Discuss the analysis of “The Merry Men.” 8. 
Explain Stevenson’s use of the rhetorical clause. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE WORD. 

I. The Genesis oe Poetry. — 1. Discuss the word as the unit of lan- 
guage. 2. How the word is reminiscent of the sentence. 3. Discuss the 
associations of words. 4. Tell the story of Tommy searching for a 
word. 5. Discuss the relation of words to reality. 6. Discuss the reality 
behind the lines in Milton. 

II. Truth. — 1. State the content of truth and the sources of our 

knowledge of truth. 2. Explain Wordsworth’s tribute to books. 3. Ex- 
plain Lord Bacon on the source of knowledge. 4. Quote Herbert Spen- 
cer on the idea of cause. 5. Quote Hooker, “Of Law there can be no 
less acknowledged.” 6. Describe Darwin’s survey of natural forces. 7. 
Describe Hooker’s survey of spiritual forces. 8. Discuss the relation 
of matter and spirit. 9. Quote, “The invisible things” — . 10. Explain 

Stevenson’s thought about “communion with the powers of the uni- 
verse.” 11. State the function of words. 12. Explain Browning’s 
thought about the Grammarian, — “loftier than the world suspects.” 

III. Primary Word-Groups. — 1. Explain the primary word-groups. 
2. State the percentage of presentive words in passages cited. 3. Dis- 
cuss presentive effects in Masefield’s “Cargoes.” 4. Discuss the range 
of expressiveness in the changing ratio of presentive and symbolic 


/ «» 


305 

words. 5. Discuss the vocabulary of the child. 6. Explain the rise of 
the symbolic vocabulary. 7. Explain the symbolic values of and and 
but. 8. Discuss the primary word-groups in primitive language, in 
Greek, in English. 9. State the relation of the primary word-groups to 
the imagination and to the reason. 10. Discuss the primary word-group 
studies in Burke, De Quincey, Macaulay, Carlyle, Stevenson. 11. State 
the average ratio of presentive to symbolic words. 

IV. Good Use. — 1. Explain the relation of good use to grammar and 
idiom. 2. Discuss grammar and its relation to rhetoric. 3. Discuss the 
parts of speech. 4. Discuss idiom and its relation to rhetoric. 5. State 
the characteristics of Tennyson’s use of words. 6. Explain the table of 
word-analysis. 7. State and discuss the law of present use. 8. State 
and discuss the law of national use. 9. State and discuss the law of 
reputable use. 10. State Maupassant’s theory of the one word. 11. Ex- 
plain Stevenson’s experiment in imitation. 12. Define impropriety, bar- 
barism, solecism. 

V. The English Language. — 1. Discuss the table of language growth. 
2. Discuss the relation of English ideals and the English language. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE SYLLABLE. 

I. The Musician’s Realm. — 1. Explain the syllable as the musician’s 
realm. 2. State the functions of the elements. 3. Quote Helmholtz on 
the expressiveness of melodic progression. 4. State Wagner’s thought 
about the expressiveness of music. 5. State Helmholtz on correspond- 
ence between musical tones and mental states. 6. How the music spoke 
to a Japanese poet. 7. Explain Pope’s satire on “tuneful fools.” 8. 
Explain Pope’s tribute to his art. 9. Quote Austin Dobson’s tribute to 
Pope. 10. Explain how rhetorical interest in sound is primarily psycho- 
logical. 11. State how vowels and consonants are formed. 

II. The Vowels. — 1. Describe the three groups of vowel sounds. 2. 
Explain the vowel chart. 3. Explain the construction of a three-line 
or seventeen-line scale for recording vowel progressions. 4. Discuss 
and illustrate the principle that the effect varies directly with the width 
of transition in the pitch. 5. Discuss the passage from “The Merchant 
of Venice.” 6. Explain the vowel progression in “Mother of Men.” 

III. The Consonants. — 1. State different kinds of consonant modifi- 
cations of sound. 2. Define all the classifications of consonants named 
in Chart I. 3. Explain the liquid, friction, and occlusion effects of 
Chart II. 4. Explain the distinction between sonants and surds in 
Chart III. 5. Discuss consonant effects in the passages from Ruskin. 

6. Discuss occlusion and friction effects in the passage from Tennyson. 

7. Explain the sound quality in the passage from Kipling. 8. Discuss 
nasal effects in “At a Solemn Musick.” 9. Discuss the dental and liquid 
effects from “Gareth and Lynette.” 10. Discuss occlusion and friction 
in “L’ Allegro.” 11. Discuss sound-quality in the passage from “Areopa- 
gitica.” 

IV. Euphony. — 1. Define euphony. 2. Discuss sound as an element 
of unity in composition. 3. State why sound is subordinated in ordi- 


nary prose. 4. Discuss sound-control in composition. 5. Discuss the 
origin of English euphony. 6. Name writers who show the quality of 
Elizabethan euphony. 7. Discuss the loss of euphony in the eighteenth 
century. 8. Explain the effect of romanticism on euphony. 9. Define 
and discuss alliteration, rhyme, assonance. 10. Give a list of alliterative 
phrases. 11. Discuss noticeable sound progressions. 12. Discuss the 
ideal of euphony. 13. Discuss the characteristic euphony of different 
writers. 

. V. Rhythm. — 1. Distinguish rhythm and meter. 2. Discuss the rela- 
tion of rhythm and heart-beats. 3. State the regulative function of 
rhythm. 4. State the expressive function of rhythm. 5. Concerning 
Oriental percussion instruments. 6. On the relation of rhythm to emo- 
tion. 7. Discuss the rhythmic phrase. 8. Discuss the rhythm of the 
passage from “Lorna Doone.” 9. Discuss the rhythmic themes of “The 
Bells.” 10. State the spiritual expressiveness of rhythm. 11. Discuss 
the rhythm of Lincoln’s letter. 

VI. Analysis of Rhythm. — 1.' Define rhythm and state the factors. 

2. State Professor Scripture’s law of rhythm. 3. Discuss quality. 4. 
Discuss pitch. 5. Discuss intensity. 6. Discuss duration. 

VII. Harmony. — 1; Name and define the factors in harmony. 2. 
How “The Moon” explains rhythmic control in composition. 3. State 
Browning’s thought about harmony. 4. State the thought of the “Song 
for St. Cecilia’s Day.” 5. Discuss the expressiveness of the passage 
from Carlyle on Justice. 6. Concerning lyric expressiveness in Tenny- 
son. 7. Explain “The Secret.” 8. How the harmony , of the Gettysburg 
Address interprets the thought. 9. How composition is tuned together 
like an orchestra. 10. Explain what Browning says of art. II. Discuss 
English Literature as the composition of forty generations. 


THEMES FOR PARAGRAPH WRITING. 

Themes are to be single paragraphs of about one hundred and fifty 
words. They are to be typewritten or written in ink on one side only 
of uniform theme paper (letter size typewriter paper, 8x10^2 inches), 
folded twice the short way and marked across the back in lines as 
follows: English Rhetoric (7 or II) | Theme ( Number ) | {Date) \ 
{Name). They are to be handed in within one week following the 
discussion in class of the section of the text on which they are based. 
They will be marked, credited and returned. Overdue themes to be 
received must be specially arranged for. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE SUBJECT. 

1. How Arthur’s speech illustrates the definition of rhetoric (§ 1). 

2. How books are haunted houses (§4). 

3. On rhetoric as a universal mode of self-expression (§ 5). 

4. Describe your conception of the author’s vision of some book 
(§10). 


307 


5. On the logical value of paragraph writing (§ n). 

6. Concerning the sentence as the unit of style (§ 12). 

7. How words get their meaning (§13). 

8. The composition that is not musical is not rhetorical (§ 14). 


CHAPTER II. 

PROSE. 

9. In prose every element should forward the sense (§1). 

10. Colloquial atmosphere (§3). 

11. Literary atmosphere (§4). 

12. Congenial influences of oratory (§5). 

13. How prose composition is infinitely various and changeful (§9). 

14. How Diana of the Tides illustrates the prose motive (§9). 


CHAPTER III. 

POETRY. 

15. How the sword Excalibur illustrates poetry (§ 1). 

16. Concerning the poetic gifts of children (§3). 

17. A study of poetry in the passage, — “So all day long” (§4). 

18. Poetic quality in the passage, — “We know that gentians grow on 
the Alps” (§8). 

19. Tonal relation of figures of speech (§9). 

20. The meaning of the passage, — “Not of the sunlight” (§ 16). 


CHAPTER IV. 

NARRATION. 

21. How narration centers in the verbs (§1). 

22. Sensuousness is the secret of power (§1). 

23. Three processes in studying plot (§2). 

24. Moral requirement in the Republic of Letters (§10). 

25. The theory of the short story (§ 13). 

26. Fielding’s four qualifications for the novelist (§ 14). 


CHAPTER V. 

DESCRIPTION. 

27. Describe a landscape as seen from a car window (§ 3). 

28. A sketch-book paragraph — a memory of long ago (§4)- 

29. A sketch-book paragraph— a person whom you know (§4). 

30. Description can not be arbitrary at all (§ 5 )* 


CHAPTER VI. 

EXPOSITION. 

31. The things of exposition (§1). 

32. The laboratory of the intellectual life (§2). 

33. A paragraph of substantive exposition on the subject Substantive 

Exposition (§5). . 

34. A paragraph of adjective exposition on the subject Adjective Ex- 
position (§6). 

35. An expository paragraph on the Monograph (§7). 


CHAPTER VII. 

ARGUMENTATION. 

36. The supreme appeal to the Other Self (§ 1). 

37. The function of imagination (§2). 

38. A theme selected from the following inscription on the Washing- 
ton Postoffice: 

‘‘Messenger of sympathy and love 
Servant of parted friends 
Consoler of the lonely 
Bond of the scattered family 
Enlarger of the common life” (§4). 

39. The evolution of the public (§ 5). 

40. The fifth stage in the evolution of the newspaper (§ 5). 

41. Other-mindedness the key to conversation (§6). 

42. The influence of the assumption of innocence (§ 10). 

43. Debate a severely logical mode (§11). 

44. Eloquence the unveiled shield (§14). 


% 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE COMPOSITION. 

45. The field of strategy (§2). . 

46. Naturalness in composition (§ 3). 

47. The Thinker as a pioneer in the wilderness (§4). 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE PARAGRAPH. 

48. A paragraph of your own in elemental form (§ 1). 

49. The function of the paragraph (§2). 


CHAPTER X. 

THE SENTENCE. 

50. The unit of style (§1). 

51. The relation of the rhetorical clause to the sentence (§5). 


309 




CHAPTER XI. 

THE WORD. 

5 2. We approach the word through the sentence (§ i). 
53- On a reminiscent word (§ i). 

54* How description centers in presentive words (§3). 
$*• How exposition centers in symbolic words (§3). 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE SYLLABLE. 

56. The element of the musician (§1). 

57. The tone-color that distinguishes style (§4). 

58. The musical themes of “The Bells” (§ 5). 

59- Accent follows the sense (§6). 

60. The Song of the English (§7). 


SPECIAL STUDIES. 

Special studies are to be as long as the subject demands, typewritten 
or written in ink on one side only of uniform theme paper (letter size 
typewriter paper, 8xio}4 inches), folded twice the short way, and 
marked across the back in lines as follows: English Rhetoric (/ or 
II) | Special Study { Number ) | {Date) | {Name). The studies are due 
as follows : the first, at the beginning of the course ; the second, on the 
completion of Chapter III ; the third, on the completion of Chapter IV ; 
the fourth, on the completion of Chapter VI ; the fifth, on the com- 
pletion of Chapter VII ; the sixth, on the completion of the course. 


1. An account of your preparation in English, your difficulties and 
aptitudes in the field of English Rhetoric. 

2. A study of “The Lady of Shalott,” showing that the method of 
the imagination is not to inform but to suggest. 

3. A complete detailed report on the plan (plot, character, thought, 
style) of some short story. 

4. A study of the method and structural character of a monograph, 
deriving a definition of the monograph as a form of exposition. 

5. A study of the method and structural character of an oration, dis- 
criminating between the processes of the reason and of the imagination, 
and showing how the standards and types of prose and the modes of 
style mingle in the composition. 

6. A statistical and rhetorical analysis of your own style with a plan 
for its improvement. 



KJ0P 

7 

> ' 




















INDEX. 


Abstraction, 125-143 
Abstract thinking, 123- 125 
Abt Vogler, 285 
Accent, 284 

Addison, Joseph, 148, 172 

Adjective exposition, 138-143 

Afterglow , 222 

Alliteration, 276 

Ambition, 124 

American Scholar , 128 

Analysis in exposition, 133-138; 

logical, 133; literary, 133-136 
Analysis of plot, 74, 76-78 
Analysis of rhythm, 282-284 ; qual- 
ity, 282; pitch, 283; intensity, 
283 ; duration, 284 
Analysis, rhetorical, 244-246, 259 
And, 255 
Anti-climax, 56 
Antithesis, 55 
Apocrypha, 51 
Apostrophe, 54 
Appreciation of poetry, 46 
Arcadia, 174 
Argumentation, 151-198 
Arnold, Thomas, 185 
Art’s sake, 43-44 
Assembly, 186-189 
Authority, 129 

Bacon, Francis, 14, 22, 129, 131, 
153, 154, 250 
Barrie, J. M., 118, 248 
Beauty, 6, 40-42. 

Bede, 200 

Beecher, Henry Ward, 195 
Bells, The, 281 
Bennett, James Gordon, 168 
Berkeley, George, 275 
Bible, 24, 26, 29, 39, 44, 51, 137, 
153, 192, 252, 262 
Brandes, George, 99 
Broadus, John A., 194 
Brown, Dr. John, 61 
Browne, Sir Thomas, 15 
Browning, Robert, 71, 123, 124, 
128, 130, 21 1, 252, 285, 289 
Burke, age of, 133-136 
Burke, Edmund, 32, 34-35 
But, 256 

Cables, Deep-Sea, 30 
Campbell, Thomas, 67, 212 


Cargoes, 254 

Carlyle, Thomas, 22, 150, 278, 287 
Catastrophe, 81, 85 
Chambered Nautilus, 216 
Character, 21, 74, 76, 167 
Characteristics, 96-100 
Chart, 94-95 
Chaucer, Geoffrey, 137 
Chesterfield, Ford, 178-179 
Cicero, Marcus Tullius, 97 
Clark, James Freeman, 205 
Clause, rhetorical, 235 
Clearness, 5, 126-127 
Climax, 55, 81, 84-85 
Coast lights, 228 
Code of journalism, 169 
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 172 
College of journalism, 171 
Colloquial standard, 27-29 
Combined figures, 53 
Comparison, 50 
Compleat Angler, 19-20 
Composition, 11, 199-217 
Compound plot, 77-78 
Concept, 122 
Conclusion, 216-217 
Conformity, 130 
Consciousness, 152-157 
Consistency, 130 
Consonants, 270-274 
Consonant charts, 271-272 
Conventionality, 130 
Conversation, 171-180; kindness, 
171; truth, 172; manners, 173; 
characteristics, 174-5; weather 
phase, 176; news phase, 176; 
expository phase, 176; social 
phase, 177; precepts, 178-180 
Copperfield, David, 77, 79 
Copy, 167-168 

Correlative figures, 49, 50-51 ; com- 
parison, 50; simile, 51 
Court of law, 190 
Criticism, Essay on, 266-267 
Cycle, 76 

Dana, Charles A., 163, 169 
Darwin, Charles, 251 
Davis, Richard Harding, 129 
Davy, Sir Humphrey, 138- 140- 
Debate, 190-192 
Decision, 156-157 
Description, 1 12-120 

(311) 


3 12 


Descriptive paragraphs, 222-223 ; 

pictural, 222; panoramic, 223 
De Quincey, Thomas, 36, 140- 142, 
158, 161, 212-21 3, 278 
Details of the story, 106 
Development, 211-216; association 
of ideas, 214; inductive-de- 
ductive, 214; self-expression, 
216 

Diana of the Tides , 3 7 
Discipline, 125-131 
Dobson, Austin, 267 
Doxology, 18 
Drama, 70 
Dramatic poetry, 70 
Drowne’s W 00 den Image , 102-103 
Dryden, John, 67, 286 
Dynamic, 74, 76 

Earle, John, 253, 275-276 
Editorials, 165-166 
Effects, 86-94; plot, 86-89; char- 
acter, 89-93; thought, 93-94. 
Elements and qualities, 103-107 
Elements of composition, 11 
Elements of style, 265 
Eliot, George, 116 
Eloquence, 196-198 
Emerson, R. W., 41, 75, 123, 128, 
129, 130, 131, 151, 172 
Emotional figures, 53-56 
Emphasis, 74, 76, 80-81 
English euphony, 275 
English language, 263-264 
English Mail-Coach, 140-142, 158 
English quality, 21, 199-203; race, 
199; place, 201; time, 202; in- 
dividuality, 203 
Epic poetry, 67-68 
Epicycle, 76 
Epithet, 58 

Essay, 148-149; Addison, 148; 

Bacon, 148; Emerson, 148 
Esther, Book of, 108-109 
Etymology, 16 
Euphony, 274-278 
Evolution, 1, 238-246 
Excalibur, 39, 40, 42 
Exclamation, 53 
Explorer, The, 22 
Exposition, 121-151 
Expositive paragraphs, 223-226 ; 
substantive, 224; adjective, 
224 ; composite, 225 

Factors, 1, 4, 121, 162-163 
Faerie Queene, The, 62, 63, 65 
Feeling, 156 


Fielding, Henry, 97-98, 109-111 
Field of strategy, 203-205 
Figures of speech, 48-51 
Finding the story, 104-105, 113, 
1 14 

Fine art, 4 

Foot, 64 

Force, 5 

Formal, 146 

Freedom, 37-38, 129-131 

Genesis, 39, 247 
Geniality, 167 
Genung, John F., 27 
Gettysburg Address, 288-289 
Gibbon, Edward, 147 
Gladstone, William E., 32 
Gleam, The, 71 
Good form, 219 
Goodness, 74, 96-97 
Good use, 14; 256-263; grammar, 
257; idiom, 257; present, 259; 
national, 260; reputable, 261 
Grammarian* s Funeral, The, 252 
Gray’s Elegy, 65 
Great Instauration, The, 146 
Greeley, Horace, 168 
Green, John Richard, 201 
Growth of language, 263 

Harmony, 284-290 
Harrison, Frederic, 26 
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 102 
Heart-beats, 279 
Helmholtz, H. L,. F., 265 
Henry, Patrick, 187-189 
Herbert, George, 178 
History of journalism, 168-169 
Holland, 202 

Holmes, O. W., 15, 36, 173, 180, 
216 

Honour, 247-248 
Hooker, Richard, 133, 250, 251 
Huntington, A. J., 185 
Huxley, T. H., 136 
Hyperbole, 53 

Idealism, 74, 76 

Idylls of the King, 1, 40, 47, 50, 
204 

Image-figures, 49, 56-59 
Imagination, 7, 39-120, 155 
Imaginative type, 35-37 
Impassioned type, 34-35 
Incitement, 81, 83-84 
Individuality, 203 
Inductive method, 138-140 
In Memoriam, 123- 124 


313 


Intellectual standard, 33-34 
Interrogation, 54 

Introduction, 208-211; form, 209; 

function, 210 
Invention, n-12 
Irony, 55 

Irving, Washington, 233 
Iteration, 54 

Johnson, Samuel, 180, 278 
Jonson, Ben, 3, 114 
Journalism, 162-171; news, 164; 
editorials, 165 ; qualifications 
of a reporter, 166; preparation 
of copy, 167; history, 168 

Keats, John, 41, 51, 57, 60, 144 
Ken, Thomas, 18 
Kidnapped, 77, 78 
Kindness, 171 

Kinds of argumentation, 157-158 
Kinds of paragraphs, 220 
King Lear, 78 

Kipling, Rudyard, 22, 23, 44, 120, 
125-126, 149, 186, 273, 290 
Knowledge, 153-156, 249-253 

Lanier, Sidney, 51 
Lark figure, 17 

Last Days of Pompeii, The, 77, 
79-80, 106-107 
Latimer’s Reef, 222 
Letter - W riting, 158- 162 ; rules, 
159-160; personal letters, 160- 
161; social, 161-162; business, 
162 

Library of Congress, 69 
Life, 106-107 
Light, 227 

Lincoln, Abraham, 196, 224, 226, 
235, 281-282 
Literary analysis, 133 
Literal mode, 25-26 
Literary standard, 29-30 
Logical analysis, 133 
Longfellow, H. W., 3 
Lorna Doone, 280-281 
Lowell, J. R., 18, 285, 288 
Lyric poetry, 68-70 

Making of a writer, 19-24 
Manners, 173-174 
Mark Twain, 16 
Marlowe, Christopher, 64 
Matter, 124 

Maupassant, Guy de, 262 
Mendeleeff, Dmitri, 150 
Mental attitude, 2 


Merlin and the Gleam, 71 
Merry Men, The, 18, 244-240 
Metaphor, 52 
Metaphysical, 121 
Method of the story, 105 
Metre, 61-63 
Metrical elements, 63 
Milton, John, 8, 17, 52, 66, 67-68, 
155, 229, 249, 273, 274. 

Modes of imagination, 39-120; 
poetry, 39; narration, 72; de- 
scription, 1 12. 

Monograph, 144-146 
Moon, The, 285 
Morley, John, 134-136 
Mother Goose, 269 
Mother of Men, 270 
Mother tongue, 4 
Motive, 2, 101 

Munroe, Charles E., 138-140 
Musician’s realm, 265-268 
Mystic, 1 19 

Narration, 72-1 11 

Narrative paragraphs, 221-222; 

epic, 221 ; dramatic, 221 
Naturalness, 72, 98-100 
News, 164-165 
News story, 165 

Night and Morning on the Sound, 
1 19-120 

Night Scene, 113 
Noank, 223 
Novel, 109-111 

Novum Organum, 22, 13 1- 132, 214 

Oldfield Moorings, 223 
On a Piece of Chalk, 136 
Open punctuation, 238 
Oratorical standard, 30-33 
Oratory, 186-198; assembly, 186; 
court of law, 190; debate, 190; 
pulpit, 192; special occasion, 
195; eloquence, 196 
Organic thinking, 143-144 
Oriental music, 279 
Other-mindedness, 171 
Other-Self, 151-152 

Palace, The, 186 
Palace of Art, The, 44 
Parable, 56 

Paradise Lost, The, 249 
Paragraph, the, 13, 218-226 
Paul the Apostle, 193 
Pegasus, 25, 155 
Percy’s Reliques, 128 
Personality, 1 


314 


Personal phases, 101-102; beauty, 
101 ; sensuousness, 102; pic- 
turesqueness, 102; wit, 102; 
humor, 102; realism, 102; ro- 
manticism, 102 
Personification, 52 
Phase, 76 

Phases of conversation, 176-177 
Phenomena of consciousness, 152- 
157 

Phillips, Wendell, 225 
Philosophy, 101 
Philosophy of style, 8 
Place, 201-202 
Plan, the, 12, 76, 207-208 
Plato, 26, 1 33, 172 
Plot, 74, 76-95 

Poe, Edgar Allan, 107-108, 281 
Poet, the, 42-47 

Poetry, 39-71 ; cultivation, 46 ; pro- 
cess, 48 

Point of view, 115-116 
Pope, Alexander, 266-267 
Preparation of copy, 167-168 
Presentive words, 253-256 
Primary modes, 7 
Primary stress, 81-86 
Primary word-groups, 253-256 
Princess , The , 287 
Principles of structure, 205-207 ; 
adaptation, 205; organization, 
206; characterization, 206 
Problem, the, 4-7 
Profession of journalism, 170 
Prose, 25-38 
Proverbs, The, 1 37 
Psalms, The, 39, 70, 71, 116, 124 
Pulitzer, Joseph, 164, 167, 171 
Pulpit, the, 192- 195 
Punctuation, 236-238; period, 236; 
colon, 237; semi-colon, 237; 
comma, 237 

Qualifications of a reporter, 166- 
167 

Quatrain, 65 

Questions on text, 291-306 
Quintilian, 5 

Rab and his Priends, 61 
Race, 199-201 
Raleigh, Walter, 48 
Realism, 74, 76 
Reporter, the, 166-167 
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 156 
Rhetorical clause, 235 
Rhythm, 61, 278-282 
Robinson Crusoe, 82 


Robinson, E. G., 254 ' 

Romeo and Juliet, 80-81, 96 
Rossetti, Gabriel Charles Dante, 
60 

Roosevelt, Theodore, 164 
Ruskin, John, 7, 17, 47, 58-59, 272 
Ruth, Book of, 29 

Saint John, 152 

San Juan Hill, 129 

Scientific, 145 

Scale of tone-color, 94 

Secondary modes, 9-11 

Secondary stress, 86-94 

Secret, The, 288 

Selection, problem of, 116-120 

Sensuous, 42 

Sentence, the, 14-15, 227-246 
Sentence evolution, 238-240 
Sentence length, 231 
Sentence motives, 232 
Sentence-structure, 232-235 ; sta- 
tistics, 233; loose, 233; peri- 
odic, 234; balanced, 234 
Sentence-studies, 240-246; Carlyle, 
240; Taylor, 241; Jane Aus- 
ten, 242 ; Burke, 242 ; Ma- 
caulay, 243; Stevenson, 244- 
246 

Sentimental Tommy, 117-118, 248 
Sermon at Athens, 193 
Sermo pedestris, 25 
Shakespeare, William, 6, 8, 24, 43, 
5i. 5 2, 54, 55, 57, 70, 78, 80, 
81, 86-94, 96, 99, 114, 1 76, 215, 
269 

Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 69 
Ships of Mystic, 119, 223 
Short story, 83-86, 107- 109 
Sidney, Philip, 174 
Silence, 131, 150 
Simile, 51 
Simple plot, 76-77 
Sketch-book paragraphs, 119 
Sonnet, the, 65-66 
Special studies, 309 
Special occasion, 195-196 
Spectator, The, 148 
Spencer, Herbert, 1, 8, 250 
Spenser, Edmund, 2, 48, 62, 197- 
198 

Spenserian stanza, 62-63, 65 
Standard prose, 26-27; colloquial, 
27; literary, 29; oratorical, 30 
Stanza, 64; quatrain, 65; Spen- 
serian stanza, 65; sonnet, 65- 
66 

Static, 74, 76 


3i5 


Statistics of languages, 263 
Stevenson, Robert Louis, 3, 18, 23, 
21 1, 234, 244-246, 252, 262 
Strategy, 203-205 
Strength, 127-129 
Style, 3, 75, 76, 103- 107, 230 
Subject-figures, 49, 51-56; meta- 
phor, 52; personification, 52; 
combined, 53; emotional, 53- 
56 

Substantive exposition, 132 
Summary of figures, 49 
Sweetheart, The, 113, 1 19-120. 
Swift, Jonathan, 27 
Syllable, the, 17-19, 63, 265-290 
Symbolic words, 253-256 
Synthesis, 74, 76 

Taine, H. A., 3 

Talmage, Thomas De Witt, 196 
Taylor, Jeremy, 17 
Teaching, 180-186; personal rela- 
tions, 180; New England 
schoolmaster, 183 ; Camelot, 

185 

Technic, 22, 23 
Tempest, The, 6, 24, 215 
Tennyson, Alfred, 1, 40, 43, 44, 47, 
50, 53, 61, 1 17, 174, 204, 266, 
272, 273, 277, 287. 

Text-book, the, 144 
Thackeray, W. M., 98 
Theme, 100, 208 
Themes, 22, 306-309 
Theories of sentence, 228-231 ; 
thought-progression, 228; style, 
230 

Theory of paragraph, 218 
Thinkers, the, 149-150 
Things as They Are, 120 
Thinking, 122, 123, 126-131 
Thought, 22, 75, 76 


Thought-interest, 100-103; theme, 
100; philosophy, 101 ; motive, 
101 ; personal phases, 101-102; 
spirituality, 102 
Thought-progression, 218, 228 
Time, 202-203 
Time, effect of, 117 
Title, 208 
Tomlinson, 44 
Tone, 19, 94-95 
Tone-theme, 244-246 
Treatise, the, 146-148 
Treatment, 95-96 

Truth, 26, 33, 41, 120, 130, 137, 150, 
172, 249-253 

Tuning an orchestra, 289 
Types of exposition, 131-144; sub- 
stantive, 132-138; adjective, 
138-143; organic, 143 
Types of poetry, 66; epic, 67-68; 
lyric, 68-70 ; dramatic, 70 

Unit of style, the, 227 
Unity, 72, 78, 145-146, 206 
Unveiled shield, 198 

Verse, 64 

Vision, 54, 113-115 
Visions, 11 
Vowel chart, 268 
Vowels, 268-270 

Walton, Izaak, 19-20 
Webster, Daniel, 31, 32, 33, 195, 
197, 198 

Wendell, Barrett, 14 

Will, the, 156-157 
Will o’ the Mill, 3 
Word, the, 15-17, 247-264 
Wordsworth, William, 2, 43, 44, 
45, 46, 69, 122, 125, 149, 21 1, 
249- 

Yellow journalism, 169-170 



















































